Song Of The Steam Saw Mill

                                               By Joe Cone

                                 I.

I come through virgin forests where the trees are straight and tall,

I laugh and laugh with pleasure when I hear the monsters fall;

I love the axe’s ringing as it swings against the butt,

I like the woody fragrance of the chips from out the cut.

The straining of the cattle is a welcome sight to see,

The grunting of the woodsmen as they roll the logs to me;

The hissing of the boiler, to the orders sharp and clear,

The starting of the carriage, it is music to my ear.

     Then it’s “rip, rip, rip,”

     Without a single skip;

I plough my way from day to day

Adown the log, my fastened prey,

     A fast, death-dealing clip.

     Then it’s “zing, zing, zing,”

     That is the song I sing

As from the rack with spiteful whack

Beyond the trembling, greasy track

The steaming boards I fling!

     “Rip, rip, zing, zing!”

That is the song I sing.

                                 II.

What care I for the lovers who would stroll beneath the trees,

What care I for the squirrels and such common things as these?

The partridge and the pigeon, to the rabbit, fox and deer,

I fain would spoil their shelter, and would drive them far from here.

I’m hungry for the monarch who is standing straight and strong,

I long to strip him naked, pull him from the forest throng;

I yearn to feel him tremble as I run him through and through,

And hear his shriek for mercy when my teeth whirl into view.

     Then it’s “rip, rip, rip,”

     Without a halt or skip;

I hurl the blade into the jade

When he upon the rack is laid,

     My fingers never slip.

     Then it’s “zing, zing, zing,”

     That is the song I sing

Above his groans – I drown his moans

Beneath my wild exultant tones,

For I have slain the king!

     “Rip, rip, zing, zing!”

     That is the song I sing.

                                III.

I level hill and valley, and I leave a blackened waste

Where once the lordly timber stood untrammeled, tall and chaste;

I make the trembling forest bow its proudly knee to me

And fill the weeping country with my wailing songs of glee.

Sometimes I find him stubborn as I strike against a knot,

But with a wail of triumph I go ploughing past the spot;

I emerge the glowing victor, I am built of steam and steel,

The forests can’t escape me and I laugh to see them reel.

     Then it’s “rip, rip, rip,”

     When I have got the grip;

Turn on the steam, and through the seam

And knot I’ll go with whirr and scream

     Without a halt or skip.

     Then it’s “zing, zing, zing,”

     That is the song I sing

As from the rack with spiteful whack

Beyond the trembling, greasy track

The steaming boards I fling!

     “Rip, rip, zing, zing!”

That is the song I sing.

Nov. 21, 1910