Classic Poem

Oh , to feel the fresh breeze blowing
— From lone ridges yet untrod!
Oh, to see the far peak growing
— Whiter as it climbs to God!

Where the silver streamlet rushes
— I would follow — follow on
Till I heard the happy thrushes
— Piping lyrics to the dawn.

I would hear the wild rejoicing
— Of the wind-blown cedar tree,
Hear the sturdy hemlock voicing
— Ancient epics of the sea.

Forest aisles would I be winding,
— Out beyond the gates of Care;
And, in dim cathedrals, finding
— Silence at the shrine of Prayer.

When the mystic night comes stealing
— Through my vast, green room afar,
Never king had richer ceiling —
— Bended bough and yellow star!

Ah, to list the sacred preaching
— Of the forest's faithful fir,
With his strong arms upward reaching —
— Mighty, trustful worshipper!

Come and learn the joy of living!
— Come and you will understand
How the sun his gold is giving
— With a great, impartial hand!

How the patient pine is climbing,
— Year by year to gain the sky;
How the rill makes sweetest rhyming,
— Where the deepest shadows lie.

I am nearer the great Giver,
— Where His handiwork is crude;
Friend am I of peak and river,
— Comrade of old Solitude.

Not for me the city's riot!
— Not for me the towers of Trade!
I would seek the house of Quiet,
— That the Master Workman made!