I rode across a valley range
I hadn't seen for years.
The trail was all so spoilt and strange
It nearly fetched the tears.
I had to let ten fences down
(The fussy lanes ran wrong)
And each new line would make me frown
And hum a mournin' song.
_Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!_
_Hear 'em stretchin' of the wire!_
_The nester brand is on the land;_
_I reckon I'll retire,_
_While progress toots her brassy horn_
_And makes her motor buzz,_
_I thank the Lord I wasn't born_
_No later than I was._
'Twas good to live when all the sod,
Without no fence nor fuss,
Belonged in pardnership to God,
The Gover'ment and us.
With skyline bounds from east to west
And room to go and come,
I loved my fellow man the best
When he was scattered some.
_Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!_
_Close and closer cramps the wire._
_There's hardly play to back away_
_And call a man a liar._
_Their house has locks on every door;_
_Their land is in a crate._
_These ain't the plains of God no more,_
_They're only real estate._
There's land where yet no ditchers dig
Nor cranks experiment;
It's only lovely, free and big
And isn't worth a cent.
I pray that them who come to spoil
May wait till I am dead
Before they foul that blessed soil
With fence and cabbage head.
_Yet it's squeak! squeak! squeak!_
_Far and farther crawls the wire._
_To crowd and pinch another inch_
_Is all their heart's desire._
_The world is overstocked with men_
_And some will see the day_
_When each must keep his little pen,_
_But I'll be far away._
When my old soul hunts range and rest
Beyond the last divide,
Just plant me in some stretch of West
That's sunny, lone and wide.
Let cattle rub my tombstone down
And coyotes mourn their kin,
Let hawses paw and tromp the moun'
But don't you fence it in!
_Oh, it's squeak! squeak! squeak!_
_And they pen the land with wire._
_They figure fence and copper cents_
_Where we laughed 'round the fire._
_Job cussed his birthday, night and morn._
_In his old land of Uz,_
_But I'm just glad I wasn't born_
_No later than I was!_
[Illustration: "_There's land where yet no ditchers dig_
_Nor cranks experiment;_
_It's only lovely, free and big_
_And isn't worth a cent._"]