Somewhat south, in a magic land,
Is found a place in the belt of sand.
Where years ago, or so it seems,
‘Twas thought by some ‘twould not raise beans.
Mistakes are made, as has been shown,
It yields fruits now like Eden grown.
And here is air, the balmy kind,
All scented with the fragrant pine.
The breath of the magnolia bloom
Combines with pine in sweet perfume.
The umbrella tree gives sheltered bower,
Which also has a fragrant flower.
The honeysuckle odors cast
Upon the breezes as they pass.
But odors are not all we’d tell,
There’s beauty for the eye as well.
The landscape will be painted soon
With ?? of the peachtree bloom.
And then, what to the eye more fine
Than dogwood mingled with the pine!
We sing of Florida’s beauty rare,
But that land cannot be more fair.
That is the land of bright sunshine,
But this is bliss ‘mid long-leaf pine.
Yet flowers and odors and balmy air
Are still not all for which we care.
The welcome which its people give,
Friendships formed for which to live.
A little room in a dear old church,
The “Fellowship Class” for which we’d search.
Rich memories come rushing fast
As we explore into the past.
Many places, many climes,
But none compares with Southern Pines.
From the front page of The Sandhill Citizen, Southern Pines, N.C., Friday, March 16, 1923
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