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The Sound of Music
By Ernest Lehman
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The hills are alive
With the sound of music
With songs they have sung
For a thousand years
The hills fill my heart
With the sound of music
My heart wants to sing
Every song it hears
My heart wants to beat like the wings
Of the birds that rise
From the lake to the trees
My heart wants to sigh
Like a chime that flies
From a church on a breeze
To laugh like a brook
When it trips and falls
Over stones on its way
To sing through the night
Like a lark who is learning to pray
I go to the hills
When my heart is lonely
I know I will hear
What I've heard before
My heart will be blessed
With the sound of music
And I'll sing...
...once more
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
- Reverend Mother.
- Sister Bernice.
- I simply cannot find her.
- Maria?
She's missing again.
We should've put a cowbell
around her neck.
Have you tried the barn? You know
how much she adores the animals.
I have looked everywhere.
In all of the usual places.
Sister, considering it's Maria...
...I suggest you look in someplace
unusual.
Well, Reverend Mother...
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...I hope this new infraction ends
whatever doubts...
...you may still have
about Maria's future here.
I always try to keep faith
in my doubts, Sister Berthe.
After all, the wool of a black sheep
is just as warm.
We are not talking about sheep,
black or white, Sister Margaretta.
Of all the candidates for
the novitiate, Maria is the least...
Children, children.
We were speculating about
the qualifications of our postulants.
The Mistress of Novices
and the Mistress of Postulants...
...were trying to help me
by expressing opposite points of view.
Tell me, Sister Catherine,
what do you think of Maria?
She's a wonderful girl,
some of the time.
- Sister Agatha?
- It's very easy to like Maria...
...except when it's difficult.
- And you, Sister Sophia?
- Oh, I love her very dearly.
But she always seems to be
in trouble, doesn't she?
Exactly what I say.
She climbs a tree and scrapes her knee
Her dress has got a tear
She waltzes on her way to Mass
And whistles on the stair
And underneath her wimple
She has curlers in her hair
I've even heard her singing
In the abbey
She's always late for chapel
But her penitence is real
She's always late for everything
Except for every meal
I hate to have to say it