Oh glory, that we wrestle

A man’s best things are nearest him, Lie close about his feet.

Great thoughts, great feelings came to them, Like instincts, unawares.

But on and up, where Nature’s heart Beats strong amid the hills.

The beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.

The hills of manhood wear a noble face When seen from far; The mist of light from which they take their grace Hides what they are.

I wandered by the brookside, I wandered by the mill; I could not hear the brook flow, The noisy wheel was still.