Autumn Matins in the Rockies

If in after years my eyes
Must blind become or dim,
Ah, may I still see sun-up, Lord,
From this high canyon's rim;

And aspen making mountain slopes
A gleaming surge of gold,
A glory which the guardian pines
In changeless green enfold;

And all these sky-upbearing peaks
With day-dawn pink aglow,
Like kings who proudly wrap themselves
In robes of ermine snow;

And deep, deep down a shimmering streak,
The river's twisting track.
Ah, God, this range can lightly bear
A continent on its back!

So paint upon my mind, I pray,
This cloudless, shining morn
That old and far-away I still
Can thank Thee I was born

- Vernon Grounds