Out between the mountains, by a river
A little flower grows by day,
Looking up to the copper sunrise,
Daily following it 'cross the sky -
One flower on a brittle branch of thorns,
Fading, never living long,
But singing in the twilight a silent song.
And care not if it ever died,
For the Good Lord made the flowers so,
That you sometimes lose sight of the bud -
Yet nothing's lost, never truly gone
But there grows another one instead
Alive as the other used to be.
And when daybreak comes, or daylight fades,
You can find and gaze on what God made.
Looking there, through evenings long,
For such enchantment in so small a thing -
Listening to the silent song,
That over the mountains ever rings.