In fair and sunny beauty, or gray ’neath evening skies,
The purple hills from misty vales, upward to heaven rise:
Their rugged side we scarce can see o’er-decked with fern and heather,
That rings its scented violet bells through fair and stormy weather;
So may thy life be clothed with flowers, and breathe a purer air,
Fresh from the “everlasting hills,” knowing no grief or care,—
And if the sunny sky must pale, as pales the setting sun,
May it only show the stars are near, peeping out, one by one!