SUNRISE ON THE CUMBERLANDS by EFFIE WALLER SMITH

The Chimney Rocks are huge chimney shaped rocks from which a vapor resembling
smoke continually rises.

We sat upon the Chimney Rocks
O'ergrown with lichens gray,
Waiting for the sunlight warm
To clear the mist away.

The Chimney Rocks crown a peak
Of Cumberland mountain which
O'erlooks the Sandy river
In picturesqueness rich.

Skyward in rugged bold relief
Without a bush or tree
To make their prominence less marked
They tower in majesty.

Wet were our garments with the dew,
Tired were our feet and sore;
For we had climbed a good long mile
Of stony path before

We reached those rocks whereon our guide
Time and again had been
With others ere us to see the sun
His daily course begin.

He (our guide) had said to us
In rustic language: "You
Of sunrise from the Chimney Rocks
Will get a lovely view."

I would that you had been with us
On dear old Cumberland;
Have sat with us upon those rocks
And have seen that sunrise grand.

The sunbeams kissed the mountain tops;
The mist was cleared away;
The eastern sky was streaked and splatched
With colors bright and gay.

While we bared our heads to gaze
On distant suntipped peaks
The scented morning zephyrs fanned
Our hot and flushing cheeks.

And, I doubt not the self same thoughts
Were pondered in each mind,
As we looked down the rocky slope
Which we had lately climbed

With toilsome steps to reach those rocks
Where we could see the sun
Appear in glorious splendor
Above the horizon.

Though toilsome was the walk it seemed
As nothing since our eyes
With pleasant joy had feasted on
That glorious sunrise.

Sometimes the pathway which He bids
Us walk in here below
Is often stony, and ofttimes
Beside it thistles grow.

Sometimes the misty clouds o'er hang
Our stony pathway hard;
Sometimes we almost starve for rest
We get so @3very@1 tired!

But then above the gloomy clouds
There's sunshine, and we know
We'll reach a place not strewn with stones
Where thistles do not grow.

And when we reach that upper land
So bright, so pure and fair
Forgotten will the hardships be
We had in getting there.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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