The storm which shook the silence of the hills br And sleeping pinnacles of ancient snow br Went muttering off in one last thunder throe br Mixed with a moan of multitudinous rills; br Yea, even as one who has wept much, but stills br The flowing tears of some convulsive woe br When a fair light of hope begins to glow br Athwart the gloom of long remembered ills: br br So does the face of this scarred mountain height br Relax its stony frown, while slow uprolled br Invidious mists are changed to veiling gold. br Wild peaks still fluctuate between dark and bright, br But when the sun laughs at them, as of old, br They kiss high heaven in all embracing light.