On this high altar, fringed with ferns <br />That darken against the sky, <br />The dawn in lonely beauty burns <br />And all our evils die. <br /> <br />The struggling sea that roared below <br />Is quieter than the dew, <br />Quieter than the clouds that flow <br />Across the stainless blue. <br /> <br />On this bare crest, the angels kneel <br />And breathe the sweets that rise <br />From flowers too little to reveal <br />Their beauty to our eyes. <br /> <br />I have seen Edens on the earth <br />With queenly blooms arrayed; <br />But here the fairest come to birth, <br />The smallest flowers He made. <br /> <br />O, high above the sounding pine, <br />And richer, sweeter far, <br />The wild thyme wakes. The celandine <br />Looks at the morning star. <br /> <br />They may not see the heavens unfold. <br />They breathe no out-worn prayer; <br />But, on a mountain, as of old, <br />His glory fills the air.<br /><br />Alfred Noyes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-mountain-top/
