The Hills
O MY Soul, let us go unto our hills,
We were native to them one day, you and I—
Less dwellers of the earth than of the sky
Where the holy sense of silence stays and stills,
Like a hand of benediction lifted high.
We have stayed in this market-place too long;
We have bartered with the birth-right in our breast;
We have shamed us with buffoonery and jest,
Nor raised our eyes to where our hills were strong,
Above this petty region of unrest.
O, my Soul, let us go unto our hills,
To their wonderful, high silence and their might,
Where the old dreams shall whisper us by night
Till the sullen heart within us stirs and thrills,
And wakes to weep and wonder and delight.
O my Soul, let us go unto our hills.
We were native to them one day, you and I—
Less dwellers of the earth than of the sky
Where the holy sense of silence stays and stills,
Like a hand of benediction lifted high.
We have stayed in this market-place too long;
We have bartered with the birth-right in our breast;
We have shamed us with buffoonery and jest,
Nor raised our eyes to where our hills were strong,
Above this petty region of unrest.
O, my Soul, let us go unto our hills,
To their wonderful, high silence and their might,
Where the old dreams shall whisper us by night
Till the sullen heart within us stirs and thrills,
And wakes to weep and wonder and delight.
O my Soul, let us go unto our hills.
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