He came, he saw, he toughed it through.
He roamed the prairie wild.
He plucked the wild sweet Williams rare.
This early roving child.
He broke the sod, he twisted hay,
He lingered through those years;
Grasshoppers were the reapers then,
His children oft in tears.
He fought with debts, chewed rosin gum:
His wife built chicken coops,
And from the tumble weeds she made
Those dainty ox-tail soups.
The homestead shanty was his home,
For beast a grass-thatched barn,
And yet to him 'twas "Home, Sweet Home,"
Where wife his socks did darn.
He had no coal, he had no wood.
For fuel he burned hay,
And when the hay gave out he burned
Machine notes he did pay.
The skies cleared off and land went up.
The sun shone on this spot:
When the discovery was made,
'Twas Eden's garden lot.
The railroad engine screeched and blew,
And yelled, "Where is that town?"
That town sprang up while it passed through,
And held that railroad down.
The elm, and ash, and maple twigs,
They grew, and grew, and grew,
For wind breaks, groves, and park and shade,
When wind it blew and blew.
The modern house and barn were built.
The auto hove in sight,
And then the pioneer was glad
He'd fit that scrappy fight.
Now when, at last, at heaven's gate,
You seek that heavenly rest,
Of all that's good and great and grand,
Iowa boasts the best.
When for this best the state you roam,
'Mong Iowa's ninety and nine,
Just keep your eyes a squintin', 'cause
O'Brien's down the line.
Four townships long, four townships wide,
On smooth and level land,
Just four and twenty miles each way,
You'll see a sight that's grand.
[Past and present of O'Brien and Osceola counties, Iowa, Volume 1, 1914]
Submitted by Cathy Danielson
