There is a place hung o'er of summer boughs br And dreamy skies wherein the gray hawk sleeps; br Where water flows, within whose lazy deeps, br Like silvery prisms where the sunbeams drowse, br The minnows twinkle; where the bells of cows br Tinkle the stillness; and the bobwhite keeps br Calling from meadows where the reaper reaps, br And children's laughter haunts an oldtime house: br A place where life wears ever an honest smell br Of hay and honey, sun and elder-bloom,- br Like some sweet, simple girl,-within her hair; br Where, with our love for comrade, we may dwell br Far from the city's strife, whose cares consume.- br Oh, take my hand and let me lead you there.