Tomorrow is pioneer day. I know many people don't even know what that is, but I thought that I'd pay a little bit of tribute to the pioneers who have helpled shape this country into what it is today.
THE OLD PIONEERS.
By H. T. Cotton.
Oh, I love to read the story
Of the grand old pioneer,
Living in his little cabin
On the wild, wierd [sic] frontier.
Far away from native homestead
By childhood’s memories blest,
When this goodly land of ours
Was a wilderness, out west.
Oh, I fancy now I see him
Sitting in his cabin door,
In the shadows of the evening,
When the hard day’s work is o’er.
In the forest dark and gloomy,
Clustering all around his home,
Undergrown with briars and bushes
Where the bear and panther roam.
And the prowling wolf in shyness,
For the darkness lies in wait,
Whilst he sits alone in silence,
Dreaming of his native state.
All unconscious of the darkness,
And the dangers lurking nigh,
Until wakened from his musings
By the panther’s fearful cry;
Borne upon the night winds chilly,
Heard above the rustling leaves,
Then he blinds the little windows,
Just beneath the clapboard eaves.
Piles the rough wood in the corner,
On the heavy puncheon floor,
Draws the string in through the latchet,
Fastens well the oaken door.
Wife and children all around him,
Sleeps he ’til the morning sun,
Safe as any king in palace,
With his faithful dog and gun.
Honest hands by toiling hardened,
Honest hearts that knew no fears,
Oh, I love to hear the story
Of the grand old pioneers.
Zionsville, February 9, 1887.