Your ShelfYour Projects

A Song of the Hills

14%

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D. C. · Apr 20, 1905

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 82, No. 16.

Read the full edition

A Song of the Hills

By Clinton Scollard

The green hills, the clean hills, without a stain upon them, When little vernal whispers breathe, and woodsy attars pass— When all the glory of the spring's rekindled life is on them, The beauty of the bourgeoned boughs, the glamour of the grass!
The fair hills, the rare hills, what sight hath blither seeming Than they reveal when summertide sets seal upon the earth! The meads below them gleaming, the sky above them dreaming, And not a tune save those that throb with melody and mirth!
The old hills, the gold hills, with orient autumn o'er them— The autumn with her wonder-loom whereto she turns her hand, And, lo, straightway upon them and about them and before them A web no mortal skill may match, not e'en in Samarcand!
The white hills, the bright hills, with winter skies above them, The north wind roaring round their crests—how sagalike its song! Although the wild storm compass them, O heart o' mine, we love them— The cold hills, the calm hills, the stanch hills, the strong!
The glad hills, the sad hills—how joy and sorrow blended Engirdle evermore the paths where boyhood's feet have clomb! Ah, how affection clings to them, and will till life is ended, The grand hills, the free hills, the dear hills of home!
— Clinton Scollard, in Housekeeper.