Oh’ how I yearn for thee; With blisterin’ heat and and clouded skies. A world made by God for a simple soul such as me. The cattails sway in the stiff hard breeze; Great pine soars as the horsefly flies. Thunderclaps and Seneca Guns! Oh’ who could not want such lands as these?
Inlets and islets spread cross yonder sounds;
Golden Dawns and violet sunsets,
Pirate homes of yore hid all ’round.
Old ‘baccer barns on the verge of collapse,
Swamps and marsh ventured to with no frets.
A land of beauty and mystery for mine,
Revelling in the pitcher and venus fly traps.A land made for God’s people who worship Him well.
A hard living earned with ‘baccer, beans and cotton.
All year round the Churches swell,
Godly men doing as He would please.
Souls of the men good, none of then rotten,
They toil and earn the sweat of their brow.
Oh’ who could not yearn for such lands as these?A land of myst’ry wonder and awe;
Fowl, bucks and boar roam,
Over yonder ye can hear the crow caw,
Blue sky stretching on, into the heavens.
Our sailships floating on the seafoam,
Salt in the air and within our hair,
By compass or star they had found their headin’.Worlds apart from the colds of the West;
“A LAND SUCH AS THESE”
The snows ne’er come for more than a week,
The land freezes solid in winter, but none the less,
Huddled round a fire jovial and warm are wes.
And, while humbled cold and meek
We say to thee:
Oh’ who could not call home and land such as these?
