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Come oh you people! Look upon The bountiful sweep of the Oregon, Forcing a pass through the blue Cascades, Lapping the walls of her palisades, Cradled in sand-dunes gleaming white, Girdling her islands of malachite! And high on the hills where a thrush’s song Tells out its gladness, there winds along Like a sinuous serpent—twist and bend, Following on to the river’s trend, The lordliest highway that ever ran Through the hills of the world since the dawn of man. Pride of the West! Sublime event! Columbia the Magnificent! Conceived by a poet who believedssss1 Dreams should be dreamed and then achieved.

And he bored him a tunnel—rock and boulder, Out of a mountain’s granite shoulder, Chiseled his windows—arching wide, Glimpsing the sky and the rolling tide; Throwing his graceful spans across Dripping ravines of fern and moss; Charming the serpent up and down Till it lazily coiled on the lofty crown, Goal of each traveller who would be Thrilled with unspeakable ecstacy.

Oh climb in your chariots pink and green, Rattletrap Lizzie and limousine, Throbbing triumphantly toward the sky, (There’s never a grade but you take on high) Honking and honking, round on round, Honking again till the cliffs resound, Looping at last the Crown Point top— And there you stop! Where winds from the North, East, West and South Tumble their clouds in the chasm’s mouth— Curtains of mist and far-off thunder— And somehow you look and look and wonder If he who was wise to the sparrow’s fall Didn’t have something to do with it all.