Back To The Soil

They write and they talk about “Back to the Soil”

     The men in the cities’ broad mart;

They sing of the farm with its health giving charm,

     And living near Nature’s heart.

They talk of the sunrise, song of the lark,

     The lay of the gold-earning hen;

They sing of the trees with marvelous ease,

     These artists of speech and pen.

They paint in rare colors the glory of dawn,

     And picture the roses of June;

They hand out the goods of the meadows and woods,

     The glow of the rare harvest moon.

They sing of the sheep on a thousand hills,

     The looing of cattle all day;

They tell of the glad and leave out the bad,

     These men in the cities’ broad way.

O, ‘back to the soil” is all very well

     If you’re blest with a bundle of rocks,

It takes a big pile to farm it in style,

     And beat all the drouths and the knocks.

I’ve tried the old farm as a boy and a man,

     And this truth is sunk deep in my knob:

With all of its charm the best time to farm

     Is while holding a good city job.

Aug. 19, 1912

        

(‘drouth’ is a dialect or poetic form of ‘drought’)