The Boys Will Come To-night

Through the maples round the farmhouse I kin hear a dismal wail

An’ I know thar is a-risin’ up a fierce November gale;

So I say as I am sittin’ in the arm-chair, dear an’ old,

“Put on more wood, Semanthy, for I’m gittin’ kinder cold.”

“Seems to me I heerd the whistle uv the ‘commodation train,

Tho’ I might hev be’n mistaken, for unsettled is my brain;

But I kennot seem to help it, so let’s hev it warm an’ light;

For tomorrow is Thanksgivin’ an’ our boys will come to-night.”

Then I hitch a little nearer as Semanthy piles the wood

On our wide, ol’ fashun fire-place, as only my wife could;

An’ I try to read the paper, but the news seems tarnal dull,

So I settle back to listen till the wind consents to lull.

But Semanthy keeps a-workin’ jes as tho’ she’s young agin,

An’ she seems to be far cooler than the snow thet’s siftin’ in;

But instid uv sittin’ idle she stops the crack up tight,

For she knows as well as I do, that the boys will come tonight.

Soon, above the creakin’ timbers sounded shouts uv mirth an’ woe,

An’ I knew thet they wus tumblin’ with each other in the snow;

An’ when the door bu’st open the welcome thet we gave

Would hev skeered most any mortal, ‘cept our Sam an’ Dick an’ Dave.

An' when the snow wus shaken frum the stylish city clothes,

Semanthy places a supper steamin’ hot beneath our nose;

But I asked our Savior’s blessin’ e’er afore we had a bite,

An’ I thanked him ruther warmly cuz our boys hed come thet night.

Nov. 17, 1890

Pub. in Conn. Ad., Nov. 22, ‘90