SAP’S A-BILIN’
Out in the country where they tap
The maple-trees in Spring,
There’s something doin’ on the map
When March is on the wing.
The bar’ls and buckets overrun,
The busy farmer’s smilin’,
The cracklin’ fire helps the fun;
For sap’s a-bilin’.
Out in the country where they all
Have lived a hundred years
And heard the go-to-meetin’ call
As Sunday storms or clears,
Thermometer’s a-risin’ when
For trouble folks are spilin’;
Till some one pokes the kettle—then
The sap’s a-bilin’.
Just hold a bit—don’t let it burn
By bein’ too intense!
The man who biles has first to learn
A leetle common sense.
It’s sugar that we’re bilin’, mind,
Not human nature rilin’;
So jest go back to sweetness kind
When sap’s a-bilin’!