touched by a light that hath no name,

a glory never sung,

aloft on sky and mountain wall

are God's great pictures hung.

how changed the summits vast and old!

no longer granite-browed,

they melt in rosy mist; the rock

is softer than the cloud;

the valley holds its breath; no leaf

of all its elms is twirled

the silence of eternity

seems falling on the world.

~john greenleaf whittier, sunset on the bearcamp (excerpt)~