I lift up my eyes to the hills – where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. (Psalm 121:1-2)
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Psalm of the Mountains
By David De Jong
As I look at the mountains, tranquil tears flow down my face,
For I know where my help comes from, He is surely in this place.
Breath-taking beauty, indescribable, infinitely grand,
Created at the dawn of time, with a sweep of His hand.
Buffalo, beasts in the field, graze along lupine meandering at will,
Grandeur of granite, skulking glacier, simply beckons – “peace, be still”.
Blossoms wistfully button the trail, calling out His name,
Anthems lifted by any choir, couldn’t sound the same.
Joyful streams, glistening mirrors, to the expansive sky,
Eagles waltzing, amongst the clouds, deepening the sigh.
No human fathomed in all his might,
Could imagine, yet create, such a sight.
Sacred air, breathed slowly, tasting it best,
Stirring pulses, savored deep within my chest.
Fragrance of the meadow, dew on the pine,
Surely God is here – undeniable – this His sign.
This day will close forcibly, far too soon,
Songs from the wolf, whispers of the moon.
Reluctant I turn, to leave this moment, and forever its memory chase,
Yet my heart weeps in joy, for with my love – together – we stood in this place.