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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

OUT OF THE HILLS, by                    
First Line: Out of the hills shall come an endless singing
Last Line: As the hill folds her children on her breast to sleep.


Out of the hills shall come an endless singing,
An anthem, aeons old, flung to the sky;
and down through vales come ageless echoes ringing,
Bright overtones of faith that cannot die.
Across the hills tramp strong, brown gypsy brothers,
Clan of a rustic race who know no fear,
Born of faithful, sturdy, toiling mothers,
Who taught their youths to stay the futile tear.

Up from the soil spring wonders of creation,
Who trample the misty peaks to a new-found day;
These are the brawn and sinew of our nation,
Carrying their clean ideals to the far away.
Purple shadows lengthen across the deep
As the hill folds her children on her breast to sleep.





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