The land afore from which I sprang calls true
As church bell clear upon a Sunday morn,
And memory such of all I know or knew
Comes rushing back in echoes I have known;
The farm springs to my sight in green and gold
Pastoral scenes there burnished by the sun,
Sweet memories rise in tears eyes cannot hold
And silver rivulets down worn cheeks now run.
There sparkles bright the lakes and streams I swam,
The trees I scarred with hearts of love once dreamed,
The hills still ringing with proud songs I sang,
Broad pastured fields whereon soft moonlight gleamed.
A boy once left those fields, the earth to roam…
And of a world so wide, still calls them home.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.