Ballad of Kirkland Hills

The grand old hills of Kirkland Stood up against the morn, As o’er a rutty road there strode A pilgrim lean and lorn. The wood-crowned hills of Kirkland, They notched the wan blue sky, As toward that plodding pilgrim came A horseman urging by. “I prithee, weary pilgrim, Now whither dost thou roam?” “I seek a gabled farmstead set Amid these hills of home; “I seek an ancient rooftree set Amid these uplands white.” “God give thee luck,” the horseman cried, “Before this Christmas night!” The kindly hills of Kirkland, They saw, when broad noon shone Above the fair Oriska vale, This pilgrim toiling on. The hemlocks preened their night-dark plumes As up and up he clomb; The same old rook-calls welcomed him Back to the hills of home. High on the hills of Kirkland Where hale the north-wind roared, O gay were they that grouped about The heapèd Christmas board! And yet the brooding mother, With smiles she hid the tear For one whose lips she had not kissed This many a lonely year; For one whose wander-lust had led His roving spirit far, Until she dreamed he slept beneath The clear Alaskan star. Hark, at the door a summons! A step upon the sill! O mother-eyes abrim with joy, And mother-heart athrill! And O ye hills of Kirkland, In wintry white and gray, A gladder sight ye never saw On any Christmas day!