Arthur Rodman’s “Jingles” Booklet-Pages 11-12

    ALL ABOARD-Cont.

There’s a hamlet darting by,
Just a blurr upon the eye;
Now we swing around a curve–
How the Pullmans rock and swerve!

See the engine leap and bound.
How the drivers spin around!
She is like a thing of life,
Eager for the clash and strife.

Now we’re racing ’round a hill,
Darting past the old sawmill;
See that rippling, silv’ry stream–
Scenery fit for baby’s dream.

Streamlets gurgling on their way,
Dashing up their cooling spray;
Over mossy rocks they flow,
As they merrily onward go.

What a scene to greet the eye–
Landscape blends with azure sky;
In the distance see a train
Slowly creeping o’er the plain.

Here and there a graceful knoll,
As the meadows gently roll;
Thriving orchards here and there.
Bearing apple, peach and pear.

Grapes in bunches, big and blue,
Goldenrod in gaudy hue;
Redhaw trees all loaded down,
Hickory nuts that soon will brown.

Squirrels leap from tree to tree,
As they romp in joyful glee:
Meaty nuts they store away
For the coming winter day.

Now the train is slowing down,
As we skirt the edge of town;
So my journey’s at an end,
And some post cards home I’ll send.

    AUTUMN ON THE FARM

The golden autumn days are here,
Altho the saddest of the year,–
At least the poets tell us so,
But I’m not sure that poets know.

The corn has ripened in the field,
And what a fortune it will yield.
The pumpkin vines are stricken down,
The Hubbard squash is big and brown.

Potato vines are now all dead;
The sumac leaves are growing red.
The maple leaves have crimsoned turned,
As tho the sun their coats had burned.

The burr oak leaves come rustling down,
As now they turn a Van Dyke brown.
The chink-apins, so rich and sweet,
Will make for us a wholesome treat.

The chestnut burrs,–sharp porcupines,
Are yielding up their meaty mines.
The hickory nuts begin to drop;
Of pawpaws there’s a bounteous crop.

Rich butternuts, with goodies sweet,
Will soon lie thick right at your feet.
And hazlenuts (sic), and walnuts, too,
With amber stain of deepest hue.

The apple trees are bending low
With treasures which with beauty glow.
The Pippin and the rich Belleflower,
The Willowtwig, so big and sour.

The Winesap and the Domonee,–
Just either one will do for me.
Ben Davis, with his cheeks so red,
And Jonathans! Enough is said.

It’s all quite fine to read about,
And of it’s (sic) beauties loudly shout;
But try to make your living there
And I’ll almost bet you’ll learn to swear.

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