A High Place

By Mr. B

There’s a hilltop,

High amongst the rest

Overlooking valleys, to mountains distant,

Blue against blue.

A hilltop, lush in emerald down.

A cushion for my slumber,

With worn weathered rock as my pillow.

With Vistas,

Far and wide,

Of green and greening grasses,

And lands pregnant with His promise.

Buds on tree and bush,

Ready to burst forth,

And shout the soon coming,

Of Springs renewal. 

A high place,

From which the Lord calls;

Look, Look what I Have made!

Without words.

A high place from which you hear, His silent calling.

Calling loudly in wind song.

Whispering, blowing – blowing through my soul.

The hawk does shout –

High upon the warm wind blowing.

As the trump,

Of His soon coming.

For He is here,

If only now in Spirit.

Soon to be,

In glory appearing.

O sweet Shenandoah,

Verdant, lush, and purse.

Renew my soul, Restore my heart.

Is Spring’s sweet promise flowing.