THE WIND IN THE PINES.
The wind is blowing through the pines
That stand like sentinels of God;
It sounds like distant chapel chimes
In a church by man untrod.
That stand like sentinels of God;
It sounds like distant chapel chimes
In a church by man untrod.
O wind in the pines, you wring my heart
With a feeling of exquisite pain!
I hear you sigh as in days gone by,
And I long for the pines again.
With a feeling of exquisite pain!
I hear you sigh as in days gone by,
And I long for the pines again.
The pines are standing straight and tall
With spires that touch the sky;
And deep in my heart I shrine them al!
With a love that will not die.
With spires that touch the sky;
And deep in my heart I shrine them al!
With a love that will not die.
In fancy I see what I saw as a child—
A forest of pines on fire;
The wind is blowing fierce and wild;
It roars like an organ choir.
A forest of pines on fire;
The wind is blowing fierce and wild;
It roars like an organ choir.
The red flames leap to the very crest;
They crackle and roar in glee;
They fill with fright the adult breast,
But they bring no fear to me.
They crackle and roar in glee;
They fill with fright the adult breast,
But they bring no fear to me.
They stand like flaming swords of light
'Gainst a black and inky sky;
The stars grow dim and hide their light,
And the wind goes rushing by.
'Gainst a black and inky sky;
The stars grow dim and hide their light,
And the wind goes rushing by.
But the One who watches over all,
Brings us safely to our goal;
Though the flames leap high and the great pines fall,
They harm not a human soul.
Brings us safely to our goal;
Though the flames leap high and the great pines fall,
They harm not a human soul.
O wind in the pines you bring me dreams
Of the pale blue April days;
Of the shy sweet mayflower's gentle beams;
Of the cardinal flower ablaze.
Of the pale blue April days;
Of the shy sweet mayflower's gentle beams;
Of the cardinal flower ablaze.
Of asters blue and golden-rod,
And October's purple haze,
As I sit and dream of the Michigan pines
In the autumn of my days.
And October's purple haze,
As I sit and dream of the Michigan pines
In the autumn of my days.
O wind in the pines, blow on! blow on!
I love your mournful tones
As I love the sound of Michigan's waves,
Lapping over the stones.
I love your mournful tones
As I love the sound of Michigan's waves,
Lapping over the stones.
Blow on! blow on! wind in the pines!
May your murmurs never cease!
The thought of the pines in my memory shines,
Like a vision of lasting peace.
May your murmurs never cease!
The thought of the pines in my memory shines,
Like a vision of lasting peace.