SWALLOWS 



Songs of the Fields 



IF the forest is tlie Temple of God, the fields 

 are the amphitheater of man. When spring 

 arouses a sleeping earth they are painted in Field 

 one great, ever-shifting jjanorama that stretches ^"«'<= 

 beyond our vision, and the world is filled with the 

 songs of nature. Because we love this music above 

 all other we rejoice that a few old-fashioned fields 

 remain to be flooded M-ith such melody in its proper 

 environment. Here, dotted with wild trees and 

 outlined with lichen and vine-covered old snake- 

 fences, evevy corner of A\'hich is filled with shrubs 

 and bushes sheltering singing birds and insects, 

 the great song festival of the fields is held. Here 

 the old-time content with life is voiced from cabin 

 homes, and the forest towering high above affords 

 shelter and 2>i'otection, and balances the forces of 

 nature. These old farms, forest-guarded, walled 

 by growth and moisture, resounding with bird- 

 song and trampled ^vith scudding feet, — all of 

 these have two owners. One is the man who pays 



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