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.