The Pioneer

There he sits in the deep cool shade of the spreading tree,

Dreaming, dreaming of the distant past;

His hoary head is propped against his knee

His withered hand is gripping fast

The cane that's come to be his final prop.

There's silence all around this solitary man,

Save for the singing bird, high in the top

Of friendly tree.  Imagine if you can

What the dreams are that run through his head,

He planted that great spreading tree, you know,

At a time when every one had glumly said

That here on the hill no crop or tree would ever grow.

But he had hope and youth and strength in that day

And the vision of the teeming life you see here now.

He sent the water running down its channeled way

And bade his horses lean against the rustic plow.

And low, he made of the hill, through years of toil,

This paradise for others to enjoy and hold.

His endless wieldig of the hoe and water on the soil

Were all he had at his command.  And I am told

That through his pioneering strength and faith of yield

A score of others found the will to go along,

To push the boundaries outward, field on field,

To fashion them a commonwealth, now great and strong.

He is humble in his pride, this again pioneer,

And his dreams now, as he sits there under the spreading tree,

Are dreams of hope that in some distant year

We will speak of the legacy he left to you and me!