It rises by the great river's side,
And surges, striving for the sky.
Its far end touches the sea's edge,
Its height links with the Taihang range.
The massive earth forms its backbone,
Other peaks stand like clenched fists.
Its fertile soil was tilled by Shun's plow,
Its rugged rocks endured Qin's whip.
In dark caves, wild winds bring the rain,
On green peaks, cold mists hang like smoke.
Shops are desolate, the path to the altar lost,
Temples are ancient, cypress stairs hang high.
The mountain's hollows hold faint, lingering snow,
The cliffs drip with the sound of trickling springs.
Its spreading roots reach the Pillar Rock,
A slanting path leads to idle fields.
To the north, it laughs at Heng's hidden treasures,
To the west, it scorns Hua's towering lotus peak.
From afar, it leans on the Three Gates,
Aloof, it stands shoulder to shoulder with the Five Elders.
Fallen fruits are gathered by woodcutters,
Rare herbs are recorded in the herbal classic.
Its empty pillars prop the Wild Goose Pagoda,
Its inverted shadow covers fishing boats.
No hand can truly paint its form,
But its veneration will last for years.
The salt ponds float with emerald haze,
The Dong Marsh charms with rippling waves.
In dark ravines, dormant dragons hide,
Through frozen firs, coiled serpents bore.
The local chronicles mark many commanderies,
A land of marvels, breeding hosts of worthies.
To call it long-lived flatters Song Mountain,
To deem Mount Tai alone fit for worship is not right.
If our culture were to perish here,
This place would be a fitting end.
A brief gaze cures one's ailments,
Frequent climbs may lead to immortality.
Xu Chang, cease your self-praise,
My verses too shall be engraved here.