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417.

6 & 4s. M.

Anonymous.

“How Beautiful upon the Mountains.”
327

Where, for a thousand miles,

The sweet Ohio smiles,

On bed of sand;

Where prairies blossom broad,

Fair gardens sown by God,

And lakes their ocean-flood

Pour from His hand;

Where sleep in rest profound,

Beneath each ancient mound,

A buried race;

There, brother, go and teach;

From heart to heart shall reach

Thy free and earnest speech

Of heavenly grace.

Where the tall forest waves

Above those mouldering graves,

God’s truth declare;

While his first temples spread

Their arches o’er thy head,

Lift, o’er the slumbering dead,

The voice of prayer.

While rolls the living tide,

Down Alleghany’s side,

Its ceaseless flood;

Upon the mountains, there,

How beautiful appear

The feet of those who bear

Tidings of good!

O Thou, whose suns and rains

Upon those mighty plains

Fall evermore;

Send down the dews of peace,

The sun of righteousness,

And let Thy light increase

From shore to shore!

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