

i 



saunter up toward the woods which climb the hill and 

 stand strong and manfully upon the brow, coquetting 

 with the south wind in the summer and defying the 

 north winds in winter. And just this side the hill- 

 top I stop and lie down in the shadows and listen 

 and hear the sea. On the hilltop I can sight 

 the sea ; below the hilltop I can hear the sea. How 

 the branches toss here ; not sedately, as when I saw 

 them from far below by the spring, but wildly, and 

 each tree after its own fashion! And how sad the 

 voices of the wind are! One could weep for sorrow 

 hearing the lonely winds washed through the tree- 

 tops. In Kansas winds are hardly ever quiet, and 

 often blow like a triumph, so that there is much 

 singing of summer songs through the woods. 

 Always, by daylight in particular, you may climb 

 from the wooded valley to this wooded crest, and 

 walk through the quiet of calm, where scarcely a 

 leaf will nod, or a note of music be struck by the 

 winds from the forest, till, as you approach the hill- 

 top, the beat of distant waves on distant rocks is 

 audible, and when at the top you are in a very fury 

 of fighting surf, dashing white spray up the long 

 rocks. I love this music and I can not tell how 

 dear it is, but hearing it I can dream and see 

 visions, and climb God's highest hills while this 

 surf-music is in my ears and in my heart. 



But when trees are leafless in autumn and 



winter, and the wind rages and snarls like a hungry 



lion, and tears at the branches, as a lion at the 



bars which make his prison, then is the music 



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