In the night Gray, heavy clouds muffled the valleys, And the peaks looked toward God alone. “O Master, that movest the wind with a finger, Humble, idle, futile peaks are we. Grant that we may run swiftly across the world To huddle in worship at Thy feet.” In the morning A noise of men at work came the clear blue miles, And the little black cities were apparent. “O Master, that knowest the meaning of raindrops, Humble, idle, futile peaks are we. Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord, That we may sing Thy goodness to the sun.” In the evening The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights. “O Master, Thou that knowest the value of kings and birds, Thou hast made us humble, idle, futile peaks. Thou only needest eternal patience; We bow to Thy wisdom, O Lord— Humble, idle, futile peaks.” In the night Gray, heavy clouds muffled the valleys, And the peaks looked toward God alone.
The Peaks
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