The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1900-07-26
NAMES CALL
To Her Sons and Daughters.
Dedicated to Old Home Week.1


BY JULIET MARION STANLEY WARREN.
Ye rowing Sons and Daughters Of the good,
old State Of Maine,
From North and South and East and West,
from hill and grassy plain,
Whereer your steps have wandered, where
'er your feet may roam,
Your Mother Maine is calling you: ssMy
Children, all come home.''
From Madawaska's northern bound to Kit
tery's ocean strand;
From Androscoggin leaping falls to st.
Crooks golden sand;
From kennebec's fair, emerald banks, the
invitations come;
Your Mother Maine is calling you: "My
Children, all come home"
The Saco, mountain born, still winds merri-
ly towards the sea;
Penobscot rolls its waters yet by hill and
field and lea
The Sandy, with it's smiles and frowns; all
send the message, "COme!
Your Mother Maine is calling. you: MY
Children, all come home""
From Oxford's hills which rear their heads
to kiss the bending sky;
From Mt. Blue s top and Abr am s crest, re-
sounds the echoing cry;
From Mars Hill, Agamenticus, and Katah-
din's lofty dome,
L
Children, all come home!"
From myriad lakes which nesting lie within
their valley-beds,
While on their shores the dark-green pines
lift up their stately heads;
From .MOQsehead, KineO-shadOwed, now
a-glint and now a. foam,
Your Mother Maine is calling you: ''My
Children, all come home.''
Sebago, Rangeley, Schoodic, and Pennee-
SeeWasSee call;
Rowe, Cobbosseecontee, Auburn, Long,
summons send to all;
From Grand and MaranocOOk, DER whose
waves gay sportsmen roam,
Your Mother Maine is calling you: ''My
Children, all come homet
Isle-dotted Casco, in whose arms the ''city
by the sea
Lies sleeping like a child lulled by its
mothers melody,
With reckoning fingers raised aloft, cries
'sSOns and Daughters, come.
Your Mother Maine is calling you: My
Children, all come homet'
The nimble-footed deer rove free in wood
and field and glen;
The trout and pickerel dart and swim far
from the haunts of men:
The sea-girt isles, against whose cragS old
Oceans pillows foam,
Say, "Mother Maine is calling you: My
Children, all come home.'f
Come, see the house where you were born;
the chamber where you slept:
The mothers room where mother kissed
away the tears you wept;
The trees meath which you frolicked come.
mid old scenes once more roam;
Your Mother Maine is calling you: 'My
Children, all come home
Come, see the schoolhouse where you conned
Your lessons DER and GER
The church where YOU learned how to
reach the shining. heavenly shore;
The Sleepin@-plac where kindred rest,
their troubles all oercome;
Your Mother Maine is calling you: My
Children. all come home
So loyal Sons and Daughters of the dear,
old State of Maine,
Isle, mountain, lake and river, all take up
the glad refrain -
''From North and South and East and West,
where'er your feet now roam,
The Pine Tree State is calling you: "My
Children, all come Home
Portland, Maine, Jan. %, 1900.
This poem, hitherto withheld from publication,
is the oldest of the "Od Home Week. poems. as
ii was written the next day after the mid-winter
meeting of the Maine Federation of WOmen's
Clubs. held at WeStbrook, Jan. "a. at which time
committee was appointed to advocate the idea