The wild, high climb o’er the mountain, the lodge by the river’s brim;
The glance at the great cloud-horses, as they plunge o’er the range’s rim;
The juniper’s balm for the nostril, the dash in the cool trout stream;
Yea, these are the Trailman’s glory; Yea, these are the Trailman’s dream!
The ride up the wild river-canyon where the wild oats grow breast high;
The shout of the quail on the hillside; the turtle dove flashing by;
An eve round the fragrant fire, and the tales of heroic theme;
Lo, these are the Trailman’s glory; Lo, these are the Trailman’s dream!
THE HYMN OF THE WIND
By Howard V. Sutherland