The Buckeye Trail

Give ear, good people, to my tale, Forget your present strait — We'll take a winding gravel trail Back to the Buckeye State. And there, atop the highest hill We'll view the scene outspread — The valley fair, the stream, the mill, The school house painted red. A wood that mounts the hillside rise — With trees now gaunt and bare, Yet, beautiful to knowing eyes, To homesick eyes, how fair! Beyond the wood, in pasture brown, The gentle sheep repose Upon the ground that slopes adown — They close their eyes and doze. A squirrel barks as we sit mute, A partridge drums — not far, A flicker tunes his noisy flute, But, soon will come the evening star. For, shadows lengthen on the lea, The day dies as it must, The sun dips to the western sea, A sea of golden dust!

This is the end of Buckeye Trail. The homing heart has seen The scene kept green in childhood's vale With all those mem'ries keen. And thus, within each hidden heart Its Buckeye Trail is found, That leads the homesick soul apart And back to childhood ground.