Songs, Merry and Sad

Away Down Home

     'T will not be long before they hear
      The bullbat on the hill,
     And in the valley through the dusk
      The pastoral whippoorwill.
     A few more friendly suns will call
      The bluets through the loam
     And star the lanes with buttercups
         Away down home.

     "Knee-deep!" from reedy places
      Will sing the river frogs.
     The terrapins will sun themselves
      On all the jutting logs.
     The angler's cautious oar will leave
      A trail of drifting foam
     Along the shady currents
         Away down home.

     The mocking-bird will feel again
      The glory of his wings,
     And wanton through the balmy air
      And sunshine while he sings,
     With a new cadence in his call,
      The glint-wing'd crow will roam
     From field to newly-furrowed field
         Away down home.

     When dogwood blossoms mingle
      With the maple's modest red,
     And sweet arbutus wakes at last
      From out her winter's bed,
     'T would not seem strange at all to meet
      A dryad or a gnome,
     Or Pan or Psyche in the woods
         Away down home.

     Then come with me, thou weary heart!
      Forget thy brooding ills,
     Since God has come to walk among
      His valleys and his hills!
     The mart will never miss thee,
      Nor the scholar's dusty tome,
     And the Mother waits to bless thee,
         Away down home.