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We are watchers of a beacon Whose light must never die; We are guardians of an altar Midst the silence of the sky: 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 pines of the forests, That by thy breath are stirr'd; For the storms, on whose free pinions Thy spirit walks abroad; For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers' God!