Far away from the din of the city,
I dwell on the prairie alone,
With no one to praise or to pity,
And all the broad earth for my own;
The fields to allure me to labor,
The shanty to shelter my sleep,
A league and a half to a neighbor--
And Collie to watch if I weep.
Yes, this is my place of probation,
Though woefully windy and bare;
I am lord of my own habitation,
I mock at the meaning of care;
For here, on the edge of creation,
Lies, far as the vision can fling,
A kingdom that's fit for a nation--
A kingdom--and I am the king!
The grasses aglare in the morning
With crystalline radiance shine;
The dew-drops are jewels adorning,
Are jewels--and the jewels are mine;
The heat of the sun when it shineth,
The wet of the wind when it rains,
Are balm to the heart that repineth--
The Medicine Men of the plains!
I follow the plow in the breaking,
I tap the rich treasures of Time--
The treasure is here for the taking,
And taking it isn't a crime;
I ride on the rack or the reaper
To harvest the fruit of my hand,
And daily I know that the deeper
I'm rooting my soul in the land.
They say there is wealth in the doing,
That royal and rich are the gains,
But 'tisn't the wealth I am wooing
So much as the life of the plains;
For here in the latter-day morning,
Where Time to Eternity clings,
Midwife to a breed in the borning,
I behold the Beginnings of Things!
When, reckless of time and of trouble,
I watch till the water fowl comes,
Or, picking my steps in the stubble,
I steal where the prairie hen drums;
When shooting the wolf in the brushes,
Or spearing the pike in the stream,
Or potting the crane in the rushes--
Ambition seems only a dream.
When darkness envelops creation,
And shadows lie deep on the plain,
I sit in my rude habitation
And ponder my childhood again;
Then voices come out of the distance,
Far voices from over the sea,
They call from the depths of existence--
I know they are calling to me!
The voices of song and of motion,
The voices of laughter and light,
They're calling from over the ocean--
Oh, God! could I answer to-night!
The voices of friend and of lover,
The voices I knew in the past--
I turn to my pallet to smother
The thoughts that have found me at last!
* * * * * * *
_Greater than the measure of the heroes of renown,
He is building for the future, and no hand can hold him down;
Though they count him but a common man, he holds the Outer Gate,
And posterity will own him as the father of the State._