122 THE MOUNTAINS 



ing and gently swaying, shine like threads 

 of silver filigree. But only for a few mo- 

 ments are the birches central in the scene, 

 for the tops of the spruces now become 

 aware of the rising sun. All their sharp 

 points and variant angles are suddenly 

 burnished, and over the dark green 

 branches, powdered as with damp marble 

 dust, there is a shimmer of gold beryl 

 which seems to light up the erect dignity 

 of the spruces with unmistakable glad- 

 ness. You begin to appreciate those 

 exultant words in Isaiah: "All the trees 

 of the field shall clap their hands." For 

 these transformed spruces appear to be 

 ready to do any joyous thing! 



I break away from the small group and 

 look over the whole sweep of the forest, 

 and everywhere it is morning in the tree- 

 tops. 



