Here, sown by the Creator's hand, In serried ranks, the Redwoods stand; No other clime is honored so, No other lands their glory know.
The greatest of Earth's living forms, Tall conquerors that laugh at storms; Their challenge still unanswered rings, Through fifty centuries of kings.
The nations that with them were young, Rich empires, with their forts far-flung, Lie buried now- their splendor gone; but these proud monarchs still live on.
So shall they live, when ends our day, When our crude citadels decay; For brief the years allotted man, But infinite perennials' span.
This is their temple, vaulted high, And here we pause with reverent eye, With silent tongue and awe-struck soul; For here we sense life's proper goal;
To be like these, straight, true and fine, To make our world, like theirs, a shrine; Sink down, Oh, traveller, on your knees, God stands before you in these trees.

Author: Joseph B. Strauss
Builder of the Golden Gate Bridge