Over the hills as the pewee flies,

’Neath the glorious blue of summer skies;

Through briery wastes where wild birds dwell,

Deep in the shade of some rocky dell;

Where the pennyroyal and mint smell sweet,

And the blackberry ripens in cool and heat;

Down the winding path by the rippling rill,

By the old-time creek, by the dear old mill;

By the vine-clad fence, in the alder’s shade

Where woodchucks and merry squirrels invade;

Through spreading fields of daisies bright,

Where butterflies roam from morn till night;

Past upland and hollow whence scents are blown

Of clover blossoms and flowers well known;

Over swamp and marshland where red-wings sing,

While in flag and tussock their nest they swing;

Through ancient orchards, o’er meadows green,

Where roses and buttercups girt the stream;

Away through the woodlands’ emerald shade

By sparkling springs, through fern-clad glade,

By old quarry ponds where memories cling

And gay swallows circle on tireless wing;

From dawn’s early light till twilight’s gloaming,

With scenes ever changing, there’s pleasure in roaming.

—Berton Mercer.