Poem by Hamlin Garland

The Meadow Lark

A BRAVE little bird that fears not God,
A voice that breaks from the snow-wet clod
With prophecy of sunny sod,
Set thick with wind-waved goldenrod.
From the first bare clod in the raw, cold spring,        
From the last bare clod, when fall winds sting,
The farm-boys hears his brave song ring,
And work for the time is a pleasant thing.

1. In August
2. The Herald Crane
3. On the Mississippi
4. Boyish Sleep
5. The Ute Lover

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