To Gungawamp

O come with me to Gungawamp,

     The fairest spot I know;

Where lilies bloom and shed perfume

     And crystal waters flow.

Where skies of blue are mirrored clear

     Within the placid stream;

Where painters sketch and poets stretch

     And loaf and love and dream.

Aye, come with me to Gungawamp

     And seek her cooling shades;

With pipe and book and silent nook,

     Which naught but God has made.

No artificial growth is there,

     Just nature wild and free;

The hand of God has laid the sod

     And set each bush and tree.

Aye, come with me to “Lizzard Crick”,

     The stream of olden days;

Where fishes wait a tempting bait

     Within its sheltered bays.

Where oak and hemlock overhang

Its rock and fern-lined shore;

And tie our boat or idly float

It’s winding ways once more.

O, Gungawamp, fair Gungawamp,

     Rest for a weary heart!

Up, up, afar from clang of car

     And roar of busy mart.

We throw ourselves down at your feet,

     And offer you our best;

And all we ask is naught of task,

     But solitude and rest!

Aug. 20, ‘09

Sunday