The Hills

Behind my father's cottage liesA gentle grassy heightUp which I often ran--to gazeBack with a wondering sight,For then the chimneys I thought highWere down below me quite!

All round, where'er I turned mine eyes,Huge hills closed up the view;The town 'mid their converging rootsWas clasped by rivers two;From, one range to another sprangThe sky's great vault of blue.

It was a joy to climb their sides,And in the heather lie!A joy to look at vantage downOn the castle grim and high!Blue streams below, white clouds above,In silent earth and sky!

And now, where'er my feet may roam,At sight of stranger hillA new sense of the old delightSprings in my bosom still,And longings for the high unknownTheir ancient channels fill.

For I am always climbing hills,From the known to the unknown--Surely, at last, on some high peak,To find my Father's throne,Though hitherto I have only foundHis footsteps in the stone!

And in my wanderings I did meetAnother searching too:The dawning hope, the shared questOur thoughts together drew;Fearless she laid her band in mineBecause her heart was true.

She was not born among the hills,Yet on each mountain faceA something known her inward eyeBy inborn light can trace;For up the hills must homeward be,Though no one knows the place.

Clasp my hand close, my child, in thine--A long way we have come!Clasp my hand closer yet, my child,Farther we yet must roam--Climbing and climbing till we reachOur heavenly father's home.