Poems (White)/Southland

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SOUTHLAND

O land of cane and pecan,
Dear land of cotton and rice,
In autumn's bright sunny morn
You will harvest in your price.

Our land of orange and pine,
Rich land of berries and grape,
There's not a season or time
That your yield we cannot take.

Fair land of magnolia, rose,
Sweet land of olive and fern,
A home of rest and repose,
From hurry of all we turn.

Turn to this land of our own,
With its sweetness undisturbed
By the hurry of business blown,
And desire of wealth not curbed.

To its lives, its quiet and peace,
Its wealth from richness of lands,
That its products may not cease,
The glory or cordial hands.