The Hills of Faith

The hills are in the midst to-day,
Their purple robes are put away.
Like coast guards in their yellow coats
They face the driving rain;
Who watch the sea for ship-wrecked boats,
They watch the land for human craft
In trouble on the plain.

The gray clouds rush among their peaks,
Some weakness there the storm-king seeks.
A frightened boulder breaks away
And rolls into the glen;
A tree is crushed to earth again,
But staunch and brave the hills remain,
A symbol of unfaltering faith
To all the hosts of men.

Time was the hills were tinged with gold,
About them seas of crimson rolled,
A gentle beauty graced their brows
As delicate as May
Who comes with blossoms in her hair.
They laughed away the summer there,
But now sublimely stern they stand,
Attired in somber gray.

Symbols of strength, unmoved they keep
Their place against the winds that sweep;
Defenders of our coast of faith,
They signal to us all
That what is strong and best and true
Shall breast the gaile and live it through
To greet the birth of spring again
And hear the song bird's call.