Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/233

Rh

A child midst ancient mountains I have stood, Where the wild falcons make their lordly nest On high. The spirit of the solitude Fell solemnly upon my infant breast, Though then I prayed not; but deep thoughts have pressed Into my being since it breathed that air, Nor could I now one moment live the guest Of such dread scenes, without the springs of prayer O'erflowing all my soul. No minsters rise Like them in pure communion with the skies, Vast, silent, open unto night and day; So might the o'erburdened Son of man have felt, When, turning where inviolate stillness dwelt, He sought high mountains, there apart to pray.