To An Old Camper

You may think, my dear, when you grow
quite old,
You have left camp days behind;
But I know the scent of wood-smoke
Will always call to mind
Little fires at twilight
And trails you used to find.

You may think some day you have quite
grown up
And feel most worldly wise;
But suddenly from out the past
A vision will arise
Of merry folk with bare brown knees
And laughter in their eyes.

You may live in a house built to your taste
In the choicest part of town;
But some day for the old camp togs
You'd change your latest gown,
And trade it all for the balsam bed
When the stars all night look down.

You may find yourself grown wealthy
With all that gold can buy;
But you'll know wealth ne'er can purchase
Those days 'neath an open sky
With fun, a sense of freedom,
And camp friends standing by.

For once you have been a camper,
Something has come to stay
Deep in your heart forever,
Which nothing can take away;
And heaven can only be heaven
With a camp in which to play.