Hear you the call of your own free West, Child of the ranch and range? Alien to all of the old East's ways, Traditions and customs strange. Your West shall lure you and call you, With joys each day new-born, Sunset's glow, and the evening star, To the keen, sweet breath of the morn. You will long for that limitless country, Girded with space and light, Ride where you will, there is beauty still, Velvety, wistful night! ... You'll remember the sheltered ranch house, With the gray corral below, The silvery gray of the pungent sage, And the far hills tipped with snow. You shall hear that call, and answer, Child of the ranch and the range. Though your feet may stray to distant lands, She shall claim her own again. |