Song of the Pioneers. SONG for the early times out West, And our green old forest home, Whose pleasant memories freshly yet Across the bosom come: A song for the free and gladsome life, With a teeming soil beneath our feet, In the days when we were pioneers, The hunt, the shot, the glorious chase, The captured elk or deer; The camp, the big, bright fire, and then The sweet, sound sleep, at dead of night, In the days when we were pioneers, We shunned not labor: when 'twas due, We lived not hermit lives, but oft In social converse met; And fires of love were kindled then, Pursued its constant flow, In the days when we were pioneers, We felt that we were fellow-men; By Heaven's upholding hand. We lifted up our hearts in prayer To God, the only Good. Our temples then were earth and sky; None others did we know, In the days when we were pioneers, Our forest-life was rough and rude, Freedom was sought and found. Oft through our dwellings wintry blasts. Oh, free and manly lives we led, In the days when we were pioneers, But now our course of life is short; We're walking on with halting step, Another land more bright than this And on our way to it we'll soon Again be pioneers! Yet while we linger, we may all A Prayer in the Prospect of Death. Thou unknown, Almighty Cause Of all my hope and fear! In whose dread presence, ere an hour, If I have wandered in those paths Of life I ought to shun; As something, loudly, in my breast Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me Has often lead me wrong. Where human weakness has come short, Or frailty steps aside, Do thou, All-Good!-for such thou art In shades of darkness hide. Where with intention I have erred, No other plea I have, But, Thou art good; and goodness still |