O Thou art beautiful! and Thou dost bestow
Thy beauty on this stillness—still as sheep
The Hills lie under Thee; the Waters deep
Murmur for joy of Thee; the voids below
Mirror Thy strange fair Vapours as they flow;
And now, afar upon the ashen height,1
Thou sendest down a radiant look of light,
So that the still Peaks glisten, and a glow
Rose-colour’d tints the little snowy cloud
That poises on the highest peak of all.
O Thou art beautiful!—the Hills are bowed
Beneath Thee; on Thy name the soft Winds call—
The monstrous Ocean trumpets it aloud,
The Rains and Snows intone it as they fall.
Robert Buchanan (1841 - 1901) Scotland
1 Alteration in the 1884 edition of The Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan: And now, afar upon the barren height,
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