Rain fills the pools, the thirsty vale is blest;
Thus should the children thrive, by love caressed.
THE MOUNTAINS.
The lofty mountains with their snowy crests,
God’s ensigns, praise their Lord throughout the land;
Their heights, which few can reach, in human breasts
Inspiring awe, yet quake beneath His hand.
Oft ’twixt their summits and the lower earth,
The wreathing cloud-mists roll, alone they dwell
As sight-dimmed age. Our cries of pain or mirth