When The Fish Begin To Rise

O, there’s mighty preparations, and there’s hungry looks and sighs

When the summer season opens, and the fish begin to rise.

There’s a scramble for the country with a fishing pole in hand,

And a mighty thrill of pleasure goes a-sweeping o’er the land.

There’s the butcher and the banker, there’s the merchants and the clerk,

There’s the sporty politicians who are always hard at “work”;

There’s the clients and the lawyers, and the judges fat and wise,

All a-going to the country when the fish begin to rise.

O, it is a mighty magnet and it never fails to draw;

And a million eyes are watching for the final summer thaw;

For the ice to melt and crumble, and the waves to dance and gleam

Like a million little jewels on the surface of the stream.

There’s the pastor and the layman, there’s the wise man and the fool,

There’s the poet and the prophet, there’s the little boy from school.

There’s the editors and the pressmen, and the scribe who never lies!

Everything goes to the bow-wows when the fish begin to rise.

Joe Cone

May 12, 1900

N. Sportsman, July ‘00