File:Glimpses of our national parks (1920) (14596358968).jpg

Identifier: glimpsesofournat01unit (find matches)
Title: Glimpses of our national parks
Year: 1920 (1920s)
Authors: United States. National Park Service Yard, Robert Sterling, 1861-1945
Subjects: National parks and reserves
Publisher: Washington, Govt. Print. Off.
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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ng rivers unite to form the Colorado, amad, turbid stream. Southwest from Utah, the Colorado passes into Arizona throughthe noble Marble Canyon and swings west between the mile-highwalls of the mighty Grand Canyon. Thence, emerging into moreopen country, it skirts Nevada and California, cuts through Mexico,and deposits its vast burden of mud in the Gulf of California. MOSAIC OF DESCRIPTION Who can describe the Grand Canyon? More mysterious in its depth than the Himalayas in their height,writes John C. Van Dyke, the Grand Canyon remains not the eighthbut the f.rst wonder of the world. There is nothing like it. Looking down more than half a mile into this 15-by-218-milepaint pot, writes Joaquin Miller, I continually ask: Is any 50 milesof Mother Earth that I have known as fearful, or any part as fearful,as full of glory, as full of God ? To the eye educated to any other, writes Charles Dudley Warner,it may be shocking, grotesque, incomprehensible; but those who II OUR NATIONAL PAEKS. 59
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Photograph by H. T. Cowling At the Foot of Hermit Trail, Grand Canyon National Park have long and carefully studied the Grand Canyon do not hesitate topronounce it by far the most sublime of all earthly spectacles. The Grand Canyon of Arizona fills me with awe, writes Theo-dore Eoosevelt. It is beyond comparison—beyond description;absolutely unparalleled throughout the wide world. A pageant of ghastly desolation and yet of frightful vitality,such as neither Dante nor Milton in their most sublime conceptions 60 OUR NATIONAL PARKS. ever even aj^proached,* writes William Winter. Your heart ismoved with feeling that is far too deep for words. It has a thousand different moods, writes Handin Garland. No one can know it for what it is who has not lived with it everyday of the year. It is like a mountain range—a cloud to-day, a wallof marble to-morrow. When the light falls into it, harsh, direct, andsearching, it is great, but not beautiful. The lines are chaotic, dis-turbing—but wait!

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