Go Back To The Farm

Go back to the farm, go back to the farm,

     Return to the life of the free;

O why will you slave your weary life long

     And naught but a slaving one be?

The din of the city but shatters your nerves,

     And makes you hard-hearted and cold;

Go back to the farm of your youth and health

     Before you are shattered and old.

The fields and the meadows are waiting your step,

     The soil it awaits your command;

The arms of the forest are reaching afar

     To welcome the touch of your hand.

The grasses they beckon you back to your home,

     The flowers are smiling for you;

The hills are awaiting the sound of your voice,

     The river it sighs for you, too.

Go back to the farm, go back to the farm,

     The life that is purest and best.

Where strains from the band that nature provides

     At night lull you sweetly to rest.

Go back to the farm while yet there is time,

     To the axe and the hoe and the plow;

The country, God’s gift to hi peace-loving sons,

     Go back to the farm, and go now.

June 29, 1902