The winds blow soft across the hill. Below outspreads a world of green, A world of woods and fields, until The purple mountains frame the scene. The sunset red has tinged the west; A shining brook reflects the glow. A distant church bell clear and low Is lulling all the land to rest. In the far city's toil and strife Men bear their weight of care alone. Straining for freedom, light and life, They feel the struggle all their own. Here on the silent hill we know This rolling earth is God's earth still, And his serene and certain will Broods o'er it like the sunset glow. |