On The Sight Of A Manse In The South Of Scotland
Say, ye far-traveled clouds, far-seeing hills Among the happiest-looking homes of men Scattered all Britain over, through deep glen, On airy upland, and by forest rills, And o'er wide plains cheered by the lark that trills His sky-born warblings, does aught meet your ken More fit to animate the Poet's pen, Aught that more surely by its aspect fills Pure minds with sinless envy, than the Abode Of the good Priest: who, faithful through all hours To his high charge, and truly serving God, Has yet a heart and hand for trees and flowers, Enjoys the walks his predecessors trod, Nor covets lineal rights in lands and towers.
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"Say, ye far-traveled clouds, far-seeing hills..."
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