Come Up From The Fields, Father
Come up from the fields, father, here's a letter from our Pete;
And come to the front door, mother-here's a letter from thy dear
Lo, 'tis autumn;
Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder,
Cool and sweeten Ohio's villages, with leaves fluttering in the
Where apples ripe in the orchards hang, and grapes on the trellis'd
(Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines?