A Yosemite Idyl 



hushed hills or the sleeping forests; as if the black shadows 

 of night had never been cloven by shafts of thunder shot 

 in stormy fury across this yawning chasm of the Sierras; as 

 if no tempest's battle-breath had ever blown its fighting 

 flame through these ranks of soldier-trees. 



The shadows sleep along the slopes as if the mountain 

 winds had lullabied them to their dreamless rest; and peace 

 is on these lofty hills, and peace is on my heart. The poesy 

 of God is on these peaks and every pulse-beat is a prayer. 

 Praise ye Him, ye mighty mountains, and praise ye Him, 

 my soul! 



THE SHADOWS SLEEP ALONG THE SLOPES" 



