Our Blue Hills


Beyond the horseshoe valley,
Beyond the prairie wide,
The Blue Hills tall like sentinels
Loom up on every side.

Against the crimson glory,
Of morning’s early dawn,
Their summits, wrapped in hazy mists,
Stand spectre like and wan.

How often from this watchtower
The countryside I’ve scanned,
Beheld the blessings of our God
Spread out with lavish hand.

The wide extended grain fields
Of barley, wheat and rye,
With here and there a shining slough
To greet my wandering eye.

I see in vales below me
The farmstead’s stately main;
Above, a dome of azure blue,
Below a sea of green.

The pastures and the meadows
Are decked in summer’s sheen—
While far out in the distance
Four busy towns are seen.

Thus, when the day is weary,
And irksome grows its care,
Unto the hills I life my eyes—
My help shall come from there.

And so upon this vantage ground
I gaze with rapture mute;
Thank God for North Dakota
And for the Blue Hill Butte!

— Bertha Spicher (Mrs. Andrew Anderson)
— Written in 1917