THE WIND ON THE HILL
© Words & Music By Martha Miranda

See the sun rising on the hill of hills
Feel its breeze of life blowing down, so gently down
Filling the earth with the fragrance of spring
And the smell of flowers from the hill
The hill of hills

Feel the wind blowing down its hallowed holy ground
Fanned by the wings of Angels with whispers of a sound
He is risen, He is risen
Cries the wind upon the hill
He is not here, He is risen
He is hidden in the field

The wind on the hill
Feel its gentle blowing
The wind on the hill
Will not be silenced now
The wind on the hill
The consecrated ground
Is blowing now to call the dead
To fill them with the wind

Hear the wing blowing calling near and far
See the grains of wheat gathered into the barn
See the bundles tied to be given to the fire
Gathered by the Angels in bundles here and there

The wind on the hill
Feel its gentle blowing
The wind on the hill
Will not be silenced now
The wind on the hill
The consecrated ground
Is blowing now to call the dead
To fill them with the wind

From Cassette Tape I AM MY FATHER'S DAUGHTER (270)

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