Rensselaer Journal, Volume 11, Number 4, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 July 1901 — GOING BACK Farm to the [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

GOING BACK Farm to the

I*ve packed my traps and I’m goin’ back where the fields are green and broad, And the colts, with their legs all doubled up,, are rollin’ on the sod; They’ll smile, I s’pose, when they see me come, and they’ll, some of ’em, likely say They thought I’d forsaken the farm for good the day that I went away— But let ’em smile—l’m goin’ back—l’m sick of the noise and fuss, Where a couple of dollars count for more than the life of a common cuss; They’ll nobody notice I’ve went away—if you told ’em they wouldn’t care. But somebody’s face’ll be full of joy when she greets her boy back there. I’m goin’ back, for I’ve had my fill—l’ve saw what there is to see; The city may still be the place for you, but it’s lost its charm for me; And won’t I be lonesome there, you say, with the people so far apart? Well, mebby they’re few and far between, but each of ’em’s got a heart; There ain’t no hundreds of thousands there to push you around, I know, Not carin’ a cent where you’re cornin’ from or where you’re tryin’ to go— t For the one that’s jostled day after day with never a friend to greet, There ain’t a lonesomer place on earth than the city’s crowded street I’m goin’ back where the dog’s asleep on the step by the kitchen door, With his nose pushed ddwn between his paws—l’m sick of the smoke and roar; There's money to make where the crowds are thick and they're tryin’ to rip things loose— There’s money to get if you’ve got the grit, but, dang it all! what’s the use? They hustle for dollars all through the day and dream of dollars in bed, And forgive the gougin’ a fellow may do as long as he gets ahead— They hustle and bustle and coop themselves in dark little holes and fret, And honor a person accordin’ to the money he’s managed to get. Fm goin’ back where the poplars stand in tall rows down the lane, Where the bobsled’s settin’ beside the barn, defyin’ the sun and rain; Where the birds are singin’ away as though they were hired to fill the air With a sweetness that nobody ever can know who was never a boy out there} I’m going back where they'll not expect me to sit in the kitchen when I’m courtin’ the girl I love because I’m workin' for other men— Where the richest among 'em’ll shake my hand, instead of lettin’ me. see That they think the money they’ve got must make them a blame sight better than me. I’m goin’ back, and you’ll stay here and rush, in the same old way, Goin’ to work and then goin' home—the same thing day by day— And you'll think you’re havin’ a high old time and I’ll pity you, lookin’ back (From where 1 whistle across the fields) at you in the same old track l—l’m goin’ back, but the crowds won’t know, and they’ll still keep rushin’ on; They’ll never notice that some one’s face is missin’ when I am gone— No, they’ll never notice that some one’s gone—if they did they wouldn’t care— But every tree’ll be noddin’ to me when I turn up the lane back there.