Small Cherries

     Even though the cherries are small they taste good.  There are several trees in the area.  This year they are loaded with the red drops and it is a very beautiful sight.









 The Alpine Horn

THIS horn is an instrument formed of the bark of the wild cherry that grows among the Alps. It is of great importance to the Alpine shepherd, as it is used as a kind of speaking trumpet, and can be heard to a very great distance. Just about the time when the sun gilds with his rays the everlasting snow on the high cliffs of the mountains, the adventurous shepherd, who has built his little chalet highest on the dizzy crags, blows a shrill blast, and repeats through his horn, "Praised be the Lord!" And the hunters who dwell around utter it again, and it is caught up and prolonged by the little valleys below. The huge piles of snow send back the solemn echo until all who hear it pause in awe. How simple, yet sublime! The hunter, when he returns at eve, wearied with the chase, repeats those loving, worshiping words, "Praised be the Lord!" When fairy-footed Spring treads on those wintry heights and melts the snow-wreaths from their brow, then, thankful for the light-eyed visitant, the Alpine horn rings clear and loud. "Praised be the Lord." And when merry vine-clad Summer follows, breathing beauty upon those wild summits, and causing the hardy flower to blossom so sweetly in its mountain home, then, in calm peacefulness the Alpine horn is heard. Winter, too, may rear his fairy palaces of cold, bright, transparent crystal, and prison the gushing streams in magic boundaries, and spread a vale of mist and snow over the crushed and withered flowers; then the hunter follows the free, wild chamois, and, returning successful, repeats in gladness, "Praised be the Lord!"  

The following lines were suggested by this beautiful custom:  


When varying hues of parting day

O'er evening portals faintly play,

The Alpine Horn calls far away,

Praised be the Lord!  

And every hill and rock around,

As though they loved the grateful sound,

Send back 'midst solitudes profound.

Praised be the Lord!  

Just heaven! has man so thankless grown

He brings no anthem to thy throne,

When voiceless things have found a tone,

To praise the Lord!  

Ah, no! for see the shepherds come,

Though scarcely heard the "welcome home,"

From toil of day they quickly come

To worship God.  

Kneeling, the starry vault beneath,

With spirits free as air they breathe -

O! pure should be their votive wreath,

Of praise to God.  

How lovely such a scene must be,

When prayer and praise ascend to thee

In one glad voice of melody,

Eternal Lord!  

All space thy temple - and the air 

A viewless messenger, to bear 

Creation's universal prayer 

On wings to heaven.    

O! that for once some Alpine horn

Both closing eve and waking morn,

Would sound and bid my bosom scorn

The world's vain joys! 


Its treasured idols all resign,

That when life's cheating hues decline,

The one undying thought be mine

To praise the Lord! 

October 22, 1857 

UrSe, ARSH 195