The lamps o' the camps are burning, 



For dusk the forest fills. 

 Men from the trails are returning 



Through woods and plains and hills; 

 The coffee-pot in the lodge is hot, 



And the heart of the hunter thrills. 



The lamps o' the camps are gleaming- 

 Over the glistening snow. 



In the shack the rays are beaming 

 From hearth to rafters low; 



The trapper sighs as smoke rings rise 

 And his happy face is aglow. 



The lamps o' the camps are greeting 



Men o' the rods and reels, 

 When the summer day is fleeting 



And mist o'er the water steals; 

 The smudge before the cabin door 



Peace to the happy angler seals. 



The lamps o' the camps are burning 



The dwellers free from care. 

 The man o' the city is yearning 



For life in the open air. 

 Why linger and dream of field and stream 



When the open road leads there? 



18 



