Clear The Road!

In boyhood days we used to go,

     When winter winds blew chill,

With ruddy cheeks and nimble feet

     To coast down Martin’s Hill.

And from each speeding single sled,

     Or double-runners’ load,

The frosty air was rent in twain

     With shouting, “clear the road!”

The arrows from a bow of steel,

     Teeth set and eyes aglow,

We sped the length of Martin’s Hill,

     Across the glist’ning snow.

There was no halting on the way,

     No one “steered out” or “slowed”;

We sped like mad down Martin’s Hill

     And shouted “clear the road!”

Then one by one we put away

     The much beloved sled,

And journeyed forth into the world

     Ambitious paths to tread.

We bade good bye to Martin’s Hill

     And youthhood’s sweet abode,

And shouted in an undertone

     For men to “clear the road.”

We found along the paths of trade

     Another Martin’s Hill;

With men at break-neck pace a-coast

     With voices loud and shrill.

Who never halted on their way

     Where fortune’s fancies glowed;

And ever ringing in our ears

     That warning, “clear the road!”

Nov. 20, 1901