The Fields of Bow

MARY BEECHER LONGYEAR

Broad, rock-terraced fields of Bow,
Spread with rugs of springlike hue,
Held close in heaven's arch of blue,
No fairer place dear God doth show
To all earth's wondering pilgrim eyes
That, weeping, search for hidden good
On breezy crag, in forest's wood;
Heaven's own path within you lies.

Here walked in childhood's lonely hour
A little girl with wind-swept hair,
Whose thoughts, like pearls so pure and rare,
Enriched old earth with priceless dower.

O fields of Bow beneath the skies,
This lesson sinks into my heart:
There is no place in marge or mart
Where thoughts from God may not arise
If we, like Mary of these hills,
In faith seek why we should not die,
But live forever, like the flowers
On fields of Bow beneath the sky.