THE LUMBERJACK

We have songs on many topics,

New and old, beneath the sun,

But, alas, in many cases,

Minstrelsy is overdone;

So I'll sing a song of labor —

Where the muse is rather slack —

And my theme shall be of timber

And the hardy lumberjack.

Now republican traditions

Are so grafted in our bones,

That e'en monarchs of the forest

Must be tumbled from their thrones.

And to raze those ancient strongholds

We have armies of the axe,

Plucky pioneers of progress,

Known to all as lumberjacks.

He may lack the wings of angels

And the sanctity of saints:

If a town's in need of painting

He may furnish all the paints.

Yet he lapses but a moment

And again he hies him back

Close unto the heart of nature,

Does the lonesome lumberjack.

There amid his wild surroundings

And the crooning of the trees,

He finds balm for mind and body

Borne on every passing breeze.

There is something strangely healing

In the magic of the myrrh,

In the odor of the cedar

And the fragrance of the fir!

Grind your axes, O my heroes,

Point your peavies, file your saws;

Let your ropes and chains and cables

Be examined now for flaws.

Fire up the iron donkey,

Till each rivet feels the strain,

Lumberjack has had his outing

And returns to camp again!

There is music in the axe fall

As it sounds upon the ear;

There is music in the sawing

When the dust is flying clear —

Aye, there's music for the lumberjack

Magnificent of sound,

In the crashing of the timber

As it thunders to the ground.

He will never lack for music

While the owl is keeping time

With the ceaseless serenading

Of the frog within the slime.

But the music ever sounding,

With the sweetest of appeals,

Is the ding-dong of the iron gong

That calls him to his meals!

He's a credit to his calling,

To his country and his clan:

There is not a dude among them —

Every lumberjack's a man.

And you'll find him ever cheerful,

In the sunshine or the rain,

From the camps of B. Columbia

To the lumber camps of Maine.

He may show a rough exterior,

But his heart is warm within —

Mark him poring o'er that letter,

Just received from home and kin:

‘ Tis, perchance, a loving message

From a sweetheart far away,

Or a tender admonition

From a mother old and gray.

O, ye lumberjacks, remember,

That wherever ye may roam,

There are anxious hearts awaiting

For an answer “back at home”!

When the sun in golden glory

Hath descended in the west,

They indulge in song and story

Till they seek their bunks for rest:

There to dream of scenes of childhood,

Amid mountain stream or glen,

Till old Sol in morning splendor

Calls them to their tasks again.

Soft and soothing are the voices

As the shades of evening fall,

Stealing gently through the forest —

Brooding calmly over all.

By yon lake a loon is calling

And the night bird answers back,

Keeping vigil o'er the slumbers

Of the weary lumberjack.

O, the lumberjack is loyal

And he'll surely see to it,

In the grind against the Kaiser

That each axe will “do its bit”;

He will spruce up for the allies

Till ten thousand airplanes hum,

All to win the war for freedom

And democracy, by gum!

Grind your axes, O my heroes,

Point your peavies, file your saws,

Let your ropes and chains and cables

Be examined now for flaws:

Fire up the iron donkey

Till each rivet feels the strain,

Lumberjack will help the Allies

Win the war with ship and plane!