It would fill a book but to name them o'er,
"Are hid and held in these walls of corn
Whose banners toss in the breeze of morn.
"Where do they stand, these walls of corn,
Whose banners toss in the breeze of morn?
"Open the atlas, conned by rule,
In the olden days of the district school.
"Point to this rich and bounteous land
That yields such fruits to the toiler's hand.
"'Treeless desert,' they called it then,