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And we of the people—we for whom These miracles are, behold we come! Driving our chariots blazoned bright, Crimson and yellow and pink and white, Silver and black and gray and green, Rattletrap Lizzie and limousine, Bulgy with bedding, grip and can, Lashed to the back and tucked to the van; Letting our home-town banners flame, Advising the world from whence we came, From everywhere under the dusty sun— From Mosier, White Salmon, Pendleton, From Boise, Seattle, Saginaw, From Buffalo, Little Rock, Waukesha; Still we are coming, see the train— From “all points east” to Bangor, Maine; Up from the Dixies, looming still, From Charleston, Havana, Jacksonville; Down from the Old Dominion, see— From Montreal, Winnipeg, Calgary, We of the people are on our way, Turning the world to a holiday!

And vast are the hollows from crest to crest Where stretches the hand of the big Northwest And out of the winds from her frozen peak A welcome speaks: “Come all you people! Come and keep Tryst in our mountains! Play and sleep, Wrapped in the silence here that lies Under our star-jeweled western skies; Wake if you will and see the sun Unveiling our canyons one by one, Slanting his golden fingers till The shadows have crept from each drowsy hill, Rousing the giants in their beds— See how they lift their hoary heads Up through the purple robe of night Into the light! Tahoma—the Mountain that was God! Jefferson, Adams, St. Helens, Hood! Hold fast to your visions and your dreams, Memories born of our laughing streams, Our cataracts, castles, towering domes— Oh carry them back to your million homes! Drink, oh you people! Be satisfied! Our wells of beauty are never dried. Search out each Eden that awaits— Blazed are the trails and wide the gates!”