The Hills of Rest

Beyond the last horizon's rim

Beyond adventure's farthest quest,

Somewhere they rise, serene and dim,

The happy, happy Hills of Rest.

Upon their sunlit slopes uplift

The castles we have built in Spain-

While fair amid the summer drift

Our faded gardens flower again.

Sweet hours we did not live go by

To soothing note, on scented wing;

In golden-lettered volumes lie

The songs we tried in vain to sing.

They are all there, the days of dream

That build the inner lives of men;

The silent, sacred years we deem

The might be and the might have been.

Some evening when the sky is gold

I'll follow day into the west;

Nor pause, nor heed, till I behold

The happy, happy Hills of Rest.

Albert Bigelow Paine