Jonathan E. Hoag

“ Drift vaguely down through Time's effacing storms,
Say, shall your antique eons come again,
To bare your secrets to the listening plain?
Mark yonder hills of sempiternal green,
Beyond whose crests still higher mounts are seen;
Whose hoary summits were in pomp upthrown,
Ere man or beast upon the earth was known.
Shall they, whose granite heads so proudly rise,
Sink prostrate and once more ascend the skies? ”