Poems (Sharpless)/Morning Among the Hills

by Frances M. Sharpless

MORNING AMONG THE HILLS

Surely in some new world I float!
 Some fresh young world unstained by woe:
Where, drifting in my tiny boat
 The light waves rock me to and fro.

The hemlock branches thrill and stir
 'Neath the sweet witchery of the morn;
And from yon sombre woods of fir
 Balsamic incense breaths are borne.

Above yon cataract that gleams
 A floating ribbon thro' the green,
A slender torch of white mist seems
 To lighten all the dark ravine,

On this fair lake without a name
 While thought and sorrow stand at bay,
I watch unfold in radiant flame
 The splendid blossom of the day.

Here is a service filled with praise:
 Untouched by selfish needs or care;
My trembling soul her song may raise,
 Feeling her God so very near.

Bathed in the glory and the light
 She heeds no longer, time or space,
But fain would spread her wings for flight
 To meet her Maker face to face.

One passionate adoring prayer
 Unknown to speech;—while slowly die
In the familiar daylight clear
 The wondrous splendors of the sky.

To camp I urge my boat again
 With longing and reluctant sighs;—
Yet bear back to the world of men
 This passing glimpse of Paradise.