THE pines are the shafts of the temple,
⁠The wild rose burns incense on high,
The wind’s voice is chanting an anthem,
⁠The roof is the infinite sky.
Now life bas grown glad for the living,
⁠We see them, we gain them at length,
Our help, and our shelter, health-giving,
⁠The hills in their strength!

A respite have we from the furnace,
⁠A rest from the toil and the heat:
Before we return to our harness
⁠The calm and the coolness are sweet.
Drinking deep of the pure air, redressed by
⁠Its peace for our manifold ills:
We are gladdened, and heartened, and blessed by
⁠The strength of the hills!

Mussoorie, N.W.P.