THE GREAT OPEN SPACES by ROBERT EMMET SHERWOOD

Spin me a yarn of the bounding sea,
Of stately ships that pass
From Singapore to Brittany,
From Guam to Gloucester, Mass.
Tell me a tale of a wave-lashed coast
Where the fog-horn's drone is heard --
And I'll send your yarn to the @3Sat. Eve. Post@1
For twenty-five cents a word.

Sing me a song of the Great Outdoors,
Of forest and moor and glen,
Of beetling crags where the eagle soars --
Where men, as they say, are men.
Strum me a lyric of morning dews
In a verdant woodland shrine --
And I'll send it out through the Central News
At three and a half a line.

Weave me a story of desert sands
With glimmering stars above,
Of passionate Sheiks and Arab bands,
And typical, tropical love.
Paint me a picture of twilight tints
On drifting dunes -- and then
I'll peddle your plot to Thomas Ince
For fifteen thousand yen.

So it's ho! for a life in the open air
Where the sky is always blue,
Where souls are purged of a dark despair,
Where hearts beat strong and true.
You can talk of the champagne baths, and such,
In the city's gilded fount --
But a man grows BIGGER 'neath Nature's touch,
And so does his bank account.

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