Song Of The Chattahoochee [1]

Out of the hills of Habersham, Down the valleys of Hall, The hurrying rain, to reach the plain, Has run the rapid and leapt the fall, Split at the rock and together again, Accepted his bed, or narrow or wide, And fled from folly on every side, With a lover's pain to attain the plain, Far from the hills of Habersham, Far from the valleys of Hall.

All down the hills of Habersham, All through the valleys of Hall, The rushes cried, Abide, abide; The wilful water weeds held me thrall, The laurel, slow-laving, turned my tide, The ferns and the fondling grass said stay, The dewberry dipped for to win delay, And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide, Here in the hills of Habersham, Here in the valleys of Hall.

High over the hills of Habersham, Veiling the valleys of Hall, The hickory told me manifold Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall Wrought me her shadowy self to hold, The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign, Said, Pass not so cold these manifold Deep shades of the hills of Habersham, These glades in the valleys of Hall.

And oft in the hills of Habersham, And oft in the valleys of Hall, The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone Barred me of passage with friendly brawl, And many a metal lay sad, alone, And the diamond, the garnet, the amethyst, And the crystal that prisons a purple mist, Showed lights like my own from each cordial stone In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, In the beds of the valleys of Hall.

But oh, not the hills of Habersham, And oh, not the valleys of Hall, Shall hinder the rain from attaining the plain, For downward the voices of duty call-- Downward to toil and be mixed with the main. The dry fields burn and the mills are to turn, And a thousand meadows mortally yearn, And the final main from beyond the plain Calls o'er the hills of Habersham, And calls through the valleys of Hall.