There's a beauty of the forest and a beauty of the hill; There's a splendor of the marshes, and another of the sea; In the meadow, on the mountain, there's a grace, a glory still, For the artist Lord of artists guideth me. And I will not chide the marshes in my longing for the wood, Nor the hill because the rivulet is gone, For the daily dole of beauty is the day's supremest good, And the path is reaching on, is reaching on. |