by Gary Jacobson
There is peace in the mountains Distilled slowly from icicle fountains With sounds waiting to be sung From frigid beams in God’s bower hung... High in the clouds is a dream of a place Lifted far and above mankind’s rat race Where troubles cannot go Evil winds cannot seeds Of discontent sow Where tides of war cannot flow... The high mountains are a place Where troubles are left behind A world’s worries can never find Cannot even exist In purified air subsist For in the mountains Justice is not decided by mights fist. A mountain’s bounty Goes to the swift and sure In modest air demure. Troubles left in valley’s below Are not here missed In pure heaven’s distilled myst In rarified air by mountain sun kissed. Here only the purest droplets of life exude In rocks and forested hills Prevention of bitter winds preclude... In a frigid pure, rocky mountain solitude For in the relentless winds that blow stiff And cold in your face From blustering gusts on a rocky mountain cliff Are pure mountains frigid Angelic lace... Far removed from the race. Mountains are a hallowed place For with every step there You feel abiding warmth in your soul there Of God’s loving Exalting Embrace...
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