The mountains stand and stare around,
They are far too proud to speak;
Altho’ they're rooted in the ground,
Up they go, peak after peak,
Beyond the tallest tree, and still
Soaring over house and hill
Until you'd think they'd never stop
Going up, top over top,
Into the clouds —
Still I mark
That a sparrow or a lark
Flying just as high, can sing
As if he'd not done anything.
I think the mountains ought to be
Taught a little modesty.