Hills

I never loved your plains,
    Your gentle valleys,
Your drowsy country lanes
    And pleached alleys.

I want my hills--the trail
    That scorns the hollow--
Up, up the ragged shale
    Where few will follow.

Up, over wooded crest,
    And mossy boulder,
With strong thigh, heaving chest,
    And swinging shoulder.

So let me hold my way,
    By nothing halted,
Until, at close of day,
    I stand exalted.

High on my hills of dream--
    Dear hills that know me!
And then how fair will seem
    The land below me!

How pure, at vesper-time
    The far bells chiming!
God, give me hills to climb
    And strength for climbing!

    ~ Arthur Guiterman