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HE pines are the shafts of the temple, The wild rose burns incense on high, The wind’s voice is chanting an anthem, The roof is the infinite sky. Now life bas grown glad for the living, We see them, we gain them at length, Our help, and our shelter, health-giving, The hills in their strength!

A respite have we from the furnace, A rest from the toil and the heat: Before we return to our harness The calm and the coolness are sweet. Drinking deep of the pure air, redressed by Its peace for our manifold ills: We are gladdened, and heartened, and blessed by The strength of the hills!

Mussoorie, N.W.P.