The Hoosier Folk-Child.

    The Hoosier Folk-Child - all unsung -
    Unlettered all of mind and tongue;
    Unmastered, unmolested - made
    Most wholly frank and unafraid:
    Untaught of any school - unvexed
    Of law or creed - all unperplexed -
    Unsermoned, aye, and undefiled,
    An all imperfect-perfect child -
    A type which (Heaven forgive us!) you
    And I do tardy honor to,
    And so, profane the sanctities
    Of our most sacred memories.
    Who, growing thus from boy to man,
    That dares not be American?
    Go, Pride, with prudent underbuzz -
    Go whistle! as the Folk-Child does.

    The Hoosier Folk-Child's world is not
    Much wider than the stable-lot
    Between the house and highway fence
    That bounds the home his father rents.
    His playmates mostly are the ducks
    And chickens, and the boy that "shucks
    Corn by the shock," and talks of town,
    And whether eggs are "up" or "down,"
    And prophesies in boastful tone
    Of "owning horses of his own,"
    And "being his own man," and "when
    He gets to be, what he'll do then." -
    Takes out his jack-knife dreamily
    And makes the Folk-Child two or three
    Crude corn-stalk figures, - a wee span
    Of horses and a little man.

    The Hoosier Folk-Child's eyes are wise
    And wide and round as Brownies' eyes:
    The smile they wear is ever blent
    With all-expectant wonderment, -
    On homeliest things they bend a look
    As rapt as o'er a picture-book,
    And seem to ask, whate'er befall,
    The happy reason of it all: -
    Why grass is all so glad a green,
    And leaves - and what their lispings mean; -
    Why buds grow on the boughs, and why
    They burst in blossom by and by -
    As though the orchard in the breeze
    Had shook and popped its popcorn-trees,
    To lure and whet, as well they might,
    Some seven-league giant's appetite!

    The Hoosier Folk-Child's chubby face
    Has scant refinement, caste or grace, -
    From crown to chin, and cheek to cheek,
    It bears the grimy water-streak
    Of rinsings such as some long rain
    Might drool across the window-pane
    Wherethrough he peers, with troubled frown,
    As some lorn team drives by for town.
    His brow is elfed with wispish hair,
    With tangles in it here and there,
    As though the warlocks snarled it so
    At midmirk when the moon sagged low,
    And boughs did toss and skreek and shake,
    And children moaned themselves awake,
    With fingers clutched, and starting sight
    Blind as the blackness of the night!

    The Hoosier Folk-Child! - Rich is he
    In all the wealth of poverty!
    He owns nor title nor estate,
    Nor speech but half articulate, -
    He owns nor princely robe nor crown; -
    Yet, draped in patched and faded brown,
    He owns the bird-songs of the hills -
    The laughter of the April rills;
    And his are all the diamonds set.
    In Morning's dewy coronet, -
    And his the Dusk's first minted stars
    That twinkle through the pasture-bars,
    And litter all the skies at night
    With glittering scraps of silver light; -
    The rainbow's bar, from rim to rim,
    In beaten gold, belongs to him.