In the cabin days of Kansas,
Oh! 'twas great to live here then,
When we heard the morning cackle
Of the prairie chicken hen;
And the drum like noise of roosters,
Coming from the prairie near,
In the early days of Kansas—
Days that always will be dear.
How we visited with neighbors,
Living miles and miles away,
In a bobsled or a wagon,
For the trip, the entire day.
How we welcomed all the strangers,
As they drove up to the yard,
And they shared our every comfort,
Though the best sometimes was hard.
In the twilight father's "fiddle"
Used to pour the music sweet
Of the "Devil's Dream" and others,
While the foot ne'er lost a beat.
And the "Sweet Tobacco Posey,"
Alabama's dearest rose,
Always came in for a feature
Ere the evening would close,
Oh! the old time songs he gave us—
Could a child of his e'er roam?
"Bobbie Burns," his favorite ballads,
Best of all, "No Place Like Home."
And the songs of war-time heroes,
In each line a thrill of love
For the Union Flag forever,
On the ramparts far above.
How the music soothed a youngster,
As the creaking trundle bed,
Cuddled me between the comforts,
And the "Good Night" words were said,
And I lay there drifting, dreaming,
On the wings of peaceful sleep.
With no thought of stern tomorrow's
Climbing up Life's Hill so steep.
"Turn your backs" would come the warning,
As the women left the hearth,
(Breaking up the happy circle
'Round the fireplace) for their berth.
Then the last was father's winding
Of the old Seth Thomas clock,
Like the katydid's false warning.
Latch string in. Asleep his flock.
