THE PAPS OF DANA

The mountains stand and stare around,

They are far too proud to speak;

Altho’ they're rooted in the ground,

Up they go, peak after peak,

Beyond the tallest tree, and still

Soaring over house and hill

Until you'd think they'd never stop

Going up, top over top,

Into the clouds —

Still I mark

That a sparrow or a lark

Flying just as high, can sing

As if he'd not done anything.

I think the mountains ought to be

Taught a little modesty.