Classic Poem

What strange emotions fill my breast!
What flitting shadows of unrest
Sweep o'er me as I stand beside
The Rocky Mountains' "Great Divide."

That rustic arch, with letters bold
Against the summit snowfields cold,
Has power to wing my fancy far
To this split streamlet's furthest bar.

The icy flood is cleft in twain,
Its waters never meet again;
Far east and to the furthest west
Those wavelets hurry without rest.

The mind can hardly grasp such vast
Extent of territory passed
E're these two streams shall reach the sea,
At different oceans to be free.

Through valleys wide and fertile plain,
Where yellow fields of waving grain
Are garnered for the wide world's store,
One stream flows to a distant shore.

May be that harnessed it will drive
The wheels which in some human hive
Of industry are waiting for
The power that it holds in store

To saw the timber, thresh the grain
And even haul the loaded train
By energy electrical
As though some wizard wove a spell.

Such small beginnings mark this stream,
It almost seems to be a dream
That carries me in mind away
Along its course to Hudson's Bay.

Far down the other branch we roam
By smiling lakes, and watch the foam
Of rapid streams that flow between
Fair orchard lands and meadows green.

The silv'ry salmon leaps the falls;
And everywhere insistent calls
Arise from forest, stream and hill,
To charm the sense or test the skill.

Oft times by restlessness oppressed,
I long to see that lonely crest;
And once again to dream beside
The arch, that's lettered "Great Divide."