At eve the mountains seem to devour each dying day,
As they stand between the earth and heaven's way.
They feast on subeams, drink the rain and dew for wine,
Their Host is God, the Infinite with whom they dine.
And he who sweeps his eye across the broad expanse of skies
May see the finger prints of God in wonderous size;
Yea, too, may see that God himself is there
To hold and guide the worlds that swing in air.
No language need be heard to tell his mighty power,
"The heavens declare his glory" in this closing hour.
