A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its murmuring song the drowsy air will cleave. It tells of mountains where the eagles soar, And shaded valleys loved by sun no more. It hums the tales of ancient, sunken days, And cools the feet of one who stops to gaze. A traveler rests beneath an old oak’s might, And listens to the water’s soft insight. The brook knows nothing of the world’s great strife, It simply carries on its liquid life. But in its flow, a deeper truth is found, That pea...

A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its murmuring song the drowsy air will cleave. It tells of mountains where the eagles soar, And shaded valleys loved by sun no more. It hums the tales of ancient, sunken days, And cools the feet of one who stops to gaze. A traveler rests beneath an old oak’s might, And listens to the water’s soft insight. The brook knows nothing of the world’s great strife, It simply carries on its liquid life. But in its flow, a deeper truth is found, That pea...