High above the valley of QuitonAn old man and his bride grow rosesnRed and yellow, white and goldennTo him they are precious as childrennnTheir daughter, she moved to AmericanOne more brick in the tower of BabelnShe has a son that they've never seen at allnThey're praying that they raised her wellnnOn the mountain highnThey will live and dienAs time just slips awaynAnd the children grow nIn the God they knownAs time just slips awaynnA man, his bride, his children, and his rosesnPlanted in faith, watered in tearsnHoney, that's all they have and they're happier herenThan any of our friends back homenThey met Jesus, and they really know HimnnOn the mountain highnThey will live and dienAs time just slips awaynAnd the children grow nIn the God they knownAs time just slips awaynnNow I'm back at home, all alone, nAnd I'm trying to find my thoughtsnThat old man's so inspiring, nBut the TV's always onnAnd the phone, it won't stop ringing, nThese bills, they keep on screamingnThey're paying for all the things nThat we never really needednnAnd I wonder what he's doing right nownMaybe walking through his simple field, nAnd thinking about hownGod has blessed him sonA man, his bride, his children, and his rosesnnOn the mountain high nThey will live and dienAs time just slips awaynAnd the children grownIn the God they knownAs time just slips away...nn