Poems (Coolidge)/The Hills
THE HILLS
The hills whose strength, dear Lord, is Thine; By solemn silence praises yield; Unmoved as they, each Christmas heart, To whom thy love hath been revealed.
"The hills from whence my help shall come:" That blessèd balm to heal each pain: In holy hush the reverent soul May softly breathe this sweet refrain.
The hills the Holy City guard; As sentinels, unfailing, stand; Thy love thy chosen ones doth keep Within the hollow of thy hand.
The hills! the mountain-top for thee A temple wast, where, free from strife, In prayer thou didst the Father seek, And gathered strength for daily life.
So, to the hills, with earnest gaze, I ever turn in wordless prayer; Thou leavest not in valley dim, The soul who trusts thy promised care.