The Call of the Mountains

The Call of the Mountains Good bye to the world with its wearisome dreams, I long for the mountains, the canyons, and streams, The dew of the morning the pine-scented air; The calm, mystic woodland, at evening so fair. The bright, laughing stream, as it bubbles along; The call of the wood-bird, the lark's cheery song; The flowers on the hillside that gleam in the light; The awe stirring pall of the bold mountain height. The fresh-scented fern, neath the green aspen tree; The call of the squirrel, the hum of the bee; The cataract's song, as it tumbles and roars; The joy of the world in the great out-of-doors. I long to be scaling the high mountain peak; To roam through the woodland, to drink from the creek; To rest on the pine's furry needles at night; And bask in the sheen of the calm morning light. So, good bye to the world, with its wearisome ways; I'm off for the hills for a few happy days; With nature commune in the mountain retreat; And revel awhile with her music so sweet. Provo, Utah Samuel Biddulph