portions of The Mountains By Emma Jane Worboise
"Once more He trod the mountain turf There were His last smiles given Ere in the clouds He soared aloft To His bright throne in Heaven And oh whene er we muse alone On toppling crag and fell Be His dear memory to us A pure and sacred spell To consecrate the awful wild Where He so loved to roam When for our sakes a little space He made this world His home In those vast fanes of ancient hills And mist and cloud and sky We too may pray and think the while Our Lord is standing by."