Consider the large heavenward hills, their ease,

Their genial age, their wisdom. More and more

I lift mine eyes unto the hills which bore

Of old their brunt of battle, and have peace.

These are the scars were ground across their knees

When the earth shuddered and the ice came on.

The hills have heaved and shouted and made moan

For the hot fire that bit their arteries.

Gentle and strong, old veterans of war,

Now humble with each flower and woven nest,

Friends of the sun and moon and morning star,

And fain of the mad north wind's biting jest;

My counsellors at unwritten law they are,

Teachers of lore and laughter, labour and rest.