I’d like to deal in lumber, and sell, for honest mon, good shingles
without number, and scantling by the ton; I’d like to hand out timber
to patrons, all day long; the moulding, thin and limber, the pillar
firm and strong; for when a man is selling such things, which hit the
spot, to build the stately dwelling, the store and humble cot, he feels
that he is helping to push the world along, and so we hear him yelping
a sweet and joyous song.
I’d like to deal in lumber, for then I’d have a hand in rousing from
its slumber, the tired and stagnant land; whene’er I sold a package,
and put away the dimes, I’d say, “I’m building trackage, toward the
better times!” Pride’s blush would then be mantling my bulging brow
upon; and when I sold a scantling I’d help the old world on.
I’d help to build the silo, which fills a pressing need, in which the
rural Milo heaps up his juicy feed; I’d help to build the cottage in
which the Newlyweds consume their home-made pottage, with sunshine
in their heads; I’d help to build the palace where Crœsus counts his
chink, and hits the golden chalice when he would have a drink. I’d help
to build the cities, where busy people dwell; it is a thousand pities I
have no boards to sell!
I want to have a hand in all good things that’s going on; I’d hate to
be astandin’ two idle feet upon! I’d hate to deal in moonshine, or take
the shining plunk for goods which have the prune shine of gold bricks
or of junk. You’ll find some merchants funny throughout this blooming
earth; I’d not enjoy my money, unless I gave its worth; unless the
goods I deal in had useful end and aim, though coin came in a-peltin’,
I’d not enjoy the game.
I’d like to deal in lumber, in lime and lath, by jings, thus helping
to encumber the world with handsome things; I’d like to have a finger
in every worthy pie, I’d like my name to linger behind me when I die.
The lumber dealers figure in every useful scheme, in everything that’s
bigger than is an empty dream.