Yes, boys, I’m waitin’ patiently to see the dawn o’ spring—
To see the flowers in blossom an’ to hear the robins sing;
An’ to see the trees an’ meadows clad in garbs o’ livin’ green;
An’ to hear the merry music o’ the brook thet flows between.
It makes me fairly home-sick sech cold wintry days ez these,
The snow a driftin’ everywhere an’ layin’ in the trees;
An’ when Jack Frost steals ’round et night an’ frescoes everything,
It makes me hanker more an’ more to see the dawn o’ spring.
Fer I know when spring comes ’round ag’in with all her sweet perfume;
Her reses all in blossom an’ her orchards all a-bloom,
An’ robins singin’ gaily—I’ll be happy ez a king;
Thet’s why I’m waitin’ patiently to see the dawn o’ spring.
ZEEKE BULLARD’S FARM.
Zeeke Bullard wuz a farmer of no great amount of worth,
Tho’ his farm wuz well supplied with miles of rich, productive earth;
Fer he owned three hundred acres, so his frien’s an’ neighbors sed,
But he uster say thet money wuz a thing he never hed.
He’d groan about his losses, an’ his scarcity of tin,
An’ he of’en sed he wondered w’y his crops were all so thin;
He’d set aroun’ frum morn till night till days an’ weeks ’ud pass,
An’ talk about the way he’d lose his grain an’ garden sass.
The ’tater bugs in multitudes ’ud come frum all aroun’,
Till nothin’ in his Murphy patch wuz left abuv the groun’;
Insects of all descriptions thronged aroun’ his garden beds,
While worms with powerful appetites devoured his cabbage heads.