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.