The Beautiful Hills.

The Beautiful Hills.
457.4

The cities of yore that were reared in crime
And renowned by the praise of seern,
Went down in the tramp of old King Time
To sleep with his gray haired years:
But the beautiful hills rise bright and strong
Thro the smoke of old time’s red ware.
As on that day when the first deep song
Rolled up from the morning stars.

We dream of rest on the beautiful hills
Where the traveler shall thirst no more,
And we hear the hum of a thousand rilla
That wander the green clens o’er:
We feel the souls of the martyred men
Who have braved the cold world’s frown.
We can bear the burden which they did then
Nor shrink from the thorny crown.

Our arms are weak, but we would not fing
To our feet this load of oure
The winds of spring to the valleys sing
And the turf replies with flowers.
And thus we learn on our wintry way
How a mightier arm controla
That the breath of God on our lives will play
Till our bodles bloom to souls.