The Mountain Ridge (Patreon)

The mountain peaks cast off their cloaks of dewy mist,And stand revealed in the pure cold light of morn;The shadows creep down the mountain to keep trystWith night, to watch another day new-born.

The sun arising from his bed of rolling cloudsImprints a burning kiss upon the virgin snows.A roseate blush the mountain tops enshrouds,While slowly with the pearly tint it glows.

Soon the mountain crags are bathed in golden showers,And glorious soar and stand before God’s face.The bird’s song rings about the radiant flowers,The sun is in the heavens, in his place.

~Drusilla Mary Child