Homesick Song

William Haskell Simpson

To the staccato of the booming drum,
To the dance-step of moccasined feet,
And swaying of brown bodies,
They sang.

Said the very old man at the drum:
It is a homesick song-
Of lonesome deserts,
Of grinding the corn,
Of a roof overhead,
The love of woman;
                       William H. Simpson

And of the Path to the Sunset,
Where we go tomorrow.

Ah! then I knew;
Knew why it sang to my heart.