The Story of the Hills

The story in the hills
None but the trees hear;
When all is quiet and still
The trees listen, gaze, and peer.

The story in the hills
Is told again and again;
When all is quiet and still,
The tale is told far from the ears of men.

The old, old oak sways in the breeze 'til
His branches are stretched and ready;
When all is quiet and still
The oak begins with voice all creaky.

He tells of the rabbits, opposoms, dear;
He tells of the squirrel, monkey and bear;
He speaks, his voice growing stronger for all to hear;
He speaks with meaning, love, and care.

The story of the hills-
The story passed down from oak unto oak
When all is quiet and still-
The story, the telling, when all awoke.

The beginning of the forest-
There was the Master who spoke,
And His feet the first grasses kissed;
"The first of all green swayed as He passed," said the oak.

"Then," continued he,
"The Lord molded man.
He gave heart, spirit, soul, will free,
And He gave dominion and land."

Far away in the hills
The old, old oak in the dale-
When all was quiet and still-
Passed on the history, the tale.

The beginning of the oceans, land, creatures,
The beginning of the earth,
The beginning of his her,
And, of course, he spoke of the forest's birth.

The old, old oak went on and on;
He told of all worlds' genesis;
He passed His story from dusk to dawn,
From morn of sun to night of mist.

Then all was quiet and still-
The forest absorbing its past.
The story of the hills-
The story passed down again at last.