When the Sabbath day is dawning in the mountains,
And the air is filled with bird song sweet and clear,
Once again I think of him who lives in spirit,
Though his voice has silent been for many a year.
And the music of the simple prayer he uttered
Seems to echo from the highest mountain peak,
And the people still respect the holy teaching
Of that mountain preacher, Zepheniah Meek.
I can see him there upon the wooded hillside,
While between two giant Trees of Heaven he stood,
And the blue skies formed a canopy above them,
As befitting one so humble, wise and good.
And he reads of how the Tree of Life is blooming,
From the thumbworn leaves of God's own book of love,
While the wind sweeps gently through the Trees of Heaven
And they seem to whisper softly up above.
Oh, your name still lives among Big Sandy's people,
Though your earthly form is molding 'neath the sod;
May your memory linger in their hearts forever,
While your spirit rests in peace at home with God.
--D. Preston