The Call of the Soil

Come back to my arms and dwell in peace,

     Ye weary of town and toil;

Come back to the rest of my green-clad breast,

     Come back to the peace of the soil.

Your face is the face of the town-made man,

     It is narrow and cramped with care;

Come – out of your lives in human hives,

     Come out where the world is fair.

Whatever you need I can give you here,

     I have gold, I have food and clothes;

But better than wealth I can give you health,

     I can give you rest and repose.

I can give you breath from the verdant fields,

     The birds, and their songs of love;

I can give you sleep that is full and deep

     That the city knows nothing of.

I have room for each weary child of town,

     I have acres of virgin soil;

I long for the thrill of the plow and till,

     I long for the touch of toil.

Come back, come back to the arms that wait,

     Ye weary of town’s turmoil;

Come back to the rest of my green-clad breast,

     Come back to the peace of the soil.

March 7, 1910