Upon the broad, green mountain side
There are so many moss-grown nooks
Thro ample meadows, flowering wide,
There flow so many singing brooks,
The purple asters o er them lean,
The flickering shadows fall between,
The maples tremble, all day long,
With shifting wind or passing song.
And every leaf, on every tree,
Must start with Spring and fade with Fall,
And every brook must reach the sea,
And sunbeams quiver over all;
And every bloom must be a bud,
And every oak-tree in the wood
Within an acorn-cup must lie,
And every bird must learn to fly.
And every cloud must fall to earth,
In silent shower, or stormy spray,
And every man, whate'er his birth,
Must learn, at last, to pass away;
And every heart must learn to beat,
As every robin learns to trill,—
And every life be made complete,
Led upward by a higher Will.