Homesick Song

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.