The rocks yield founts of courage,
Struck forth as by Thy rod;
For the strength of the hills we bless Thee,
Our God, our fathers' God.
For the dark, resounding caverns,
Where Thy still, small voice is heard—
For the strong, tall pine of the forests,
That by Thy breath is stirred;
For the storm, on whose free pinions
Thy Spirit walks abroad;
For the strength of the hills we bless Thee,
Our God, our fathers' God.
* * * * *
For the shadow of Thy presence
'Round our camp of rock outspread;
For the stern defiles of battle,
Bearing record of our dead:
For the snows and for the torrents,
For the free heart's burial sod:
For the strength of the hills we bless Thee,
Our God, our fathers' God.
Their self-esteem, combined with deep ignorance, present a formidable barrier to the progress of the Gospel. They have had so little intercourse with other parts of the earth—so little knowledge of anything beyond their own scenes of pastoral life, that it is difficult for them to contemplate the great principles of temporal and eternal salvation.
One long round of almost unremitting toil is the portion of both sexes. The woman who is venerable with gray hairs is seen laden with wood, or heavy baskets of manure, while traveling the rugged paths of the mountains. No drudgery here but must be shared by the delicate female frame. I have traveled far over the earth, from the confines of the torrid zone to the regions of eternal snow, but never before beheld a people with so many physical and mental derangements. But the hour of their deliverance draws nigh.
