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“I will lift up mine eyes to the hills.”
I Moving through the dew, moving through the dew, | |
| Ere I waken in the city—Life, thy dawn makes all things new! | |
| And up a fir-clad glen, far from all the haunts of men, | |
| Up a glen among the mountains, oh my feet are wings again! | |
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| Moving through the dew, moving through the dew, | 5 |
| O mountains of my boyhood, I come again to you, | |
| By the little path I know, with the sea far below, | |
| And above, the great cloud-galleons with their sails of rose and snow; | |
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| As of old, when all was young, and the earth a song unsung | |
| And the heather through the crimson dawn its Eden incense flung | 10 |
| From the mountain-heights of joy, for a careless-hearted boy, | |
| And the lavrocks rose like fountain sprays of bliss that ne’er could cloy, | |
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| From their little beds of bloom, from the golden gorse and broom, | |
| With a song to God the Giver, o’er that waste of wild perfume; | |
| Blowing from height to height, in a glory of great light, | 15 |
| While the cottage-clustered valleys held the lilac last of night, | |
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| So, when dawn is in the skies, in a dream, a dream, I rise, | |
| And I follow my lost boyhood to the heights of Paradise. | |
| Life, thy dawn makes all things new! Hills of Youth, I come to you, | |
| Moving through the dew, moving through the dew. | 20 |
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II Moving through the dew, moving through the dew, | |
| Floats a brother’s face to meet me! Is it you? Is it you? | |
| For the night I leave behind keeps these dazzled eyes still blind! | |
| But oh, the little hill-flowers, their scent is wise and kind; | |
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| And I shall not lose the way from the darkness to the day, | 25 |
| While dust can cling as their scent clings to memory for aye; | |
| And the least link in the chain can recall the whole again, | |
| And heaven at last resume its far-flung harvests, grain by grain. | |
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| To the hill-flowers clings my dust, and tho’ eyeless Death may thrust | |
| All else into the darkness, in their heaven I put my trust; | 30 |
| And a dawn shall bid me climb to the little spread of thyme | |
| Where first I heard the ripple of the fountain-heads of rhyme. | |
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| And a fir-wood that I know, from dawn to sunset-glow, | |
| Shall whisper to a lonely sea, that swings far, far below. | |
| Death, thy dawn makes all things new. Hills of Youth, I come to you, | 35 |
| Moving through the dew, moving through the dew. | |
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