On every side now the prairie stretched away empty to a far, clear skyline. The wind never stopped blowing, waving the tall prairie grasses…And all the afternoon, while Pa kept driving onward, he was merrily whistling or singing. The song he sang oftenest was:
Oh, come to this country,
And don't you feel alarm,
For Uncle Sam is rich enough
To give us all a farm!
— Laura Ingalls Walker (from "By the Shores of Silver Lake")