The Voice of the Mountain

Low at my feet is stretched the lordly vale;

Across my realm the high wild stars are led;

My garment is the light, the darkness dread;

I wrap me round with rain and snow and hail.

Round me and round the eagles nest and sail;

Between my knees the thunders make their bed;

I lap the storm-winds, and their young are bred,

Their young that play, and chafe my rocky mail.

Who cometh up to me, he shall have power,

The prophet's power, the old law-giver's might;

Ay, he shall have the tablet in his hand.

He shall not fail, but in the evil hour

And good, uplifted, clothed upon with light,

His neck unbowed, as I stand shall he stand.