Classic Poem

He is not destitute of lore, —
Far, far from it is he, —
Who doth the Cumberland 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 here abide.

Among the dear old Cumberland
How sweet is life to me,
Here beauties grow and e'er expand
Each day for me to see.

Far from the city's strife and care
I live a life obscure;
I breathe the sweet health-giving air
And drink the water pure.

The rugged, rocky peaks I climb,
Which bold and peerless stand,
Majestic, mighty, huge, sublime,
So beautiful and so 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 continually,
Not tiresome, weird or dull;
And here are scenes for the 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!