THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL 



of some great music. I have 

 started out in the morning and 

 climbed a rocky, dusty trail up 

 steep zig-zags through the chapar- 

 ral until, hot and weary, I have 

 come to a gently sloping plateau 

 land, where the trail wound slowly 

 upward through fragrant pines 

 with great bronzed trunks and 

 then dipped into little meadows 

 green with spring-time and glad 

 with flowers. In the trees birds 

 were singing, and as I listened I 

 said over to myself those beautiful 

 lines of Edwin Markham's on "Joy 

 in the Morning": 



"I hear you, little bird, 

 Shouting a-swing above the broken wall. 

 Shout louder yet; no song can tell it all. 

 Sing to my soul in the deep, still wood; 

 Tis wonderful beyond the wildest word; 

 I'd tell it, too, if I could." 



And then I have climbed up 

 above the tree line and, sitting 

 beside a bed of white heather with 



[14] 



