In the Cradle of The Platte.
A little stream in the cañon ran,
In the cañon deep and long,
When a stout old oak at its side began
To sing to it this song,
"Oh, why do you laugh and weep and sing,
And why do you hurry by,
For you're only a noisy little thing,
While a great strong oak am I;
A hundred years I shall stand alone,