O from our life's full measure
And rich hoard of worldly treasure
We often turn our weary eyes away,
And hand in hand we wander
Down the old path winding yonder
To the orchard where the children used to play.
GRIGGSBY'S STATION
Pap's got his pattent-right, and rich as all creation;
But where's the peace and comfort that we all had
before?
Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station--
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!
The likes of us a-livin' here! It's jest a mortal pity
To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets on the
stairs,
And the pump right in the kitchen! And the city! city!
city!--
And nothin' but the city all around us ever'wheres!
Climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple,
And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree!
And right here in ear-shot of at least a thousan' people,
And none that neighbors with us or we want to go and
see!
Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station--
Back where the latch-string's a-hangin' from the door,
And ever' neighbor round the place is dear as a relation--
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore!
I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit-and-bilin',
A-drivin' up from Shallor Ford to stay the Sunday
through;
And I want to see 'em hitchin' at their son-in-law's and
pilin'
Out there at 'Lizy Ellen's like they ust to do!
I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is makin';
And I want to pester Laury 'bout their freckled hired
hand,
And joke her 'bout the widower she come purt' nigh
a-takin',
Till her Pap got his pension 'lowed in time to save his
land.
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