Never loved your plains, your gentle valleys/Your drowsy country lanes and pleached alleys.
I want my hills, the trail that scorns the hollow/Up, up the ragged shale where few will follow.
High on my hills of dream, dear hills that know me/And then how fair will seem the lands below me
How pure at vesper time, the far bells chiming/God, give me strength to climb, and hills for climbing. "Hills" - Arthur Guiterman
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