Countrified by James Buckham

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D. C. · Feb 4, 1904

“Countrified”

By James Buckham

Do they call you “countrified”? Let it be your joy and pride, You, who love the birds and bees, And the whispers of the trees! Trust me, friend of flowers and grass, Little brown-faced lad or lass, Naught in all the world beside Equals being “countrified.”

Up of mornings when the light Reddens on the mountain height; Hearing how the bird-throats swell With the joy they can not tell; Conscious that the morning sings Like a harp with unseen strings, Over which the breezes glide; This is being “countrified.”

Roaming far, on summer days, Or when autumn woodlands blaze; Learning how to catch and tell Nature’s precious secrets well; Filled with sunshine, heart and face, Or, where branches interlace, Dappled like the shy trout’s side; This is being “countrified.”

What though little fit to pose In the city’s ways and clothes? There is vastly more to love In the brown of nature’s glove. Health and happiness and tan Are best fashions for a man; All who near to God abide Are, in some way, “countrified.”

— James Buckham.