Land of Beauty! Blossom-land! Land of Heroes, Saints and Sages, Let the Ages Witness all thou canst command From each loyal heart and hand, California!
I always appreciate things as I go along, for no knowing whether you'll ever go the same way twice in this world.
ALBERTA LAWRENCE, in _The Travels of Phoebe Ann._
Home of the elements--where battling bands Of clouds and winds the rocks defy-- Mute yet great, old Tamalpais stands Outlined against the rosy sky. His darkened form uprising there commands The country round, and every eye From lesser hills he strangely seems to draw With lifted glance that speaks of wonder and of awe. It is the awe that makes us reverence show To men of might who proudly tower Above their fellow-men; the glance that we bestow On one whose native force and power Have lifted him above the race below-- The pigmy mortals of an hour-- We almost bend the knee and bow the head To the mighty force that marks his kingly tread.
MRS. PHILIP VERRILL MICHELS, in _Readings from the California Poets._
Broadly speaking, California is the only _elective_ State. Its people are not here because their mothers happened to be here at the time; not as refugees; not as ne'er-do-wells, drifting to do no better; not even, in bulk, as joining the scrimmage for more money. They have come by deliberate choice, and a larger proportion of them, and more single-heartedly, for home's sake than in any other as large migration on record.
CHARLES F. LUMMIS, in _The Right Hand of the Continent, Out West, August_, 1902.
Is there any kind of climate, Any scene for painter's eye, The Almighty hath not crowded 'Neath our California sky? Is there any fruit or flower, Any gem or jewel old, Any wonder of creation This Garden doth not hold-- From the tiny midget blossom To the grand Sequoia high, With its roots in God's own country And its top in God's own sky?
FRED EMERSON BROOKS, in _Old Abe and Other Poems._
I climbed the canyon to a river-head, And looking backward saw a splendor spread. Miles beyond miles, of every kingly hue And trembling tint the looms of Arras knew-- A flowery pomp as of the dying day, A splendor where a god might take his way.
It was the brink of night and everywhere Tall redwoods spread their filmy tops in air; Huge trunks, like shadows upon shadow cast, Pillared the under twilight, vague and vast.