Here is a poem I found in an old book by J.D. Vallance titled Untrodden Ways.
What are you here for? Gold! Big pay!
And you think it’s here for the taking,
‘Lest so the “fronts” in ‘Frisco say
About fortunes here in the making
And you want me to give directions
As to where the the mother lode lays,
Because there with the least exertions
The “fronts” say it more than pays.
I’m old at the game of panning
In the rivers and streams for gold,
And I feel that’s why you’re planning
That I tell you the tale untold.
The mother-lode true is paydirt
That most everyone wants, to a man,
But gold to the one who’s most alert
Ain’t always what’s found in your pan.
Sure! I’ll tell you where to find it,
If you’ll listen to what I say,
And lad, you had better mind it,
‘Cause I don’t often tell without pay.
Have you ever heard in the morning
The elk send his bugle call
To the sun, and a rainbow forming
In the first silver mist of fall?
Or the Whipoorwill softly trilling,
In a setting of meadow and stream,
And all the outdoors thrilling
In tune with a woodland dream?
There, my boy, is the mother-lode
You seek, though you may not know it,
You’ll find more near the end of the road
Than in the sifting sands that show it.