ALPINE HEIGHTS.
ON Alpine heights the love of God is shed;
He plants the morning red,
The flowerets white and blue,
And feeds them with his dew.
On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells.
On Alpine heights, o'er many a fragrant heath,
The loveliest breezes breathe;
So free and pure the air,
His breath seems floating there.
On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells.
On Alpine heights, beneath His mild blue sky,
Still vales and meadows lie;
The soaring glacier's ice
Gleams like a paradise.
On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells.
Down Alpine heights the silv'ry streamlets flow,
There the bold chamois go;
On giddy crags they stand,
And drink from His own hand.
On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells.
On Alpine heights, in troops all white as snow,
The sheep and wild goats go;
There, in the solitude,
He fills their hearts with food.
On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells.
On Alpine heights the herdsman tends his herd;
His shepherd is the Lord;
For He who feeds the sheep
Will sure his offspring keep.
On Alpine heights a loving Father dwells.
--Krummacher.