THE HOME AMONG THE HILLS.
215
A part have we in all the toils
Of these our mountain neighbors;
A portion in the precious gain
Heaven winnows from their labors.
Of these our mountain neighbors;
A portion in the precious gain
Heaven winnows from their labors.
We taste their trials, share their feasts,
And with a passing wonder
We linger even while we go,
Their choice, their lot to ponder.
And with a passing wonder
We linger even while we go,
Their choice, their lot to ponder.
Amid the grandeur and the gloom
On every hand abiding,
A flower of human blossoming
This little home is hiding.
On every hand abiding,
A flower of human blossoming
This little home is hiding.
What tender wind of Providence
The small seed hither drifted
Where yet these shadows vast may fall
On village spires uplifted?
The small seed hither drifted
Where yet these shadows vast may fall
On village spires uplifted?
Less awful seem those hills august,
Less lone the valley's glooming,
Since in this wilderness the rose
Of human life is blooming!
Less lone the valley's glooming,
Since in this wilderness the rose
Of human life is blooming!
