God plowed one day with an earthquake,
And drove His furrows deep!
The huddled plains upstarted,
The hills were all aleap!
But that is the mountains secret,
Long hidden in their breast;
"Gods peace is everlasting,"
Are the dream words of their rest.
He made them the haunts of beauty,
The home chosen for His grace;
He spreads forth His mornings upon them,
His sunsets light their face.
His winds bring messages to them
Strong storm-news from the main;
They sing it down the valleys
In the love song of the rain.
They are nurseries for young rivers,
Nests for His flying cloud,
Homesteads for newborn races,
Masterful, free, and proud.
The people of tired cities
Come up to their shrines and pray;
God freshens them within again,
As He passes by all day.
And lo, I have caught their secret!
The beauty deeper than all!
This faith that lifes hard moments,
When the jarring sorrows befall,
Are but God plowing His mountains;
And those mountains yet will be
The source of His grace and freshness,
And His peace everlasting to me.