Smith, Effie Waller
|SONGS OF THE MONTHS.|
He is not destitute of lore,--
Far, far from it is he,--
Who doth the mighty hills adore,
And love them reverently.
Methinks they who make their abode
On plain and valley wide
Are not so near to heaven and God
As those who by hills abide.
Tho' sweet your city life may be,
Yet sweeter, sweeter still
Is my quiet country life to me,
By vale and lofty hill.
Far from the city's strife and care
I live a life obscure;
I breathe the sweet health-giving ai
And drink the water pure.
The rugged, rocky peaks I climb,
Which bold and peerless stand,
Majestic, mighty, huge, sublime,
So beautiful and grand!
The wondrous works of God I view
In every dell and nook;
And daily learn some lesson new,
From Nature's open book.
Here calm and wooded glens afford
The noblest, purest kind
Of inspiration for the bard's
Dreamy and gifted mind.
And here is music never still,
Not tiresome, weird or dull;
And here are scenes for artist's eye,
Lovely and beautiful.
How oft their grandeur I've admired
As 'neath them I have stood;
And it was they that me inspired
To love the pure and good.
How sweet among their vales to roam,
And view their summits high;
Here may I ever have a home,
Here may I live and die!