The Lumberjack 



(Reprinted from The Bemidji Daily Pioneer) 



T 



HE lumberjack is a man of brawn 

 He toils in the open from early dawn, 

 He's deep of chest and strong of limb 

 A hard day's work is as play to him. 

 He dines on the best the land affords 

 The Cook his servant, the Boss his lord; 

 The breakfast horn is his bugle call 

 He goes to rest when the night shades fall. 



He comes to the camp that's built of log 



And chinked with moss from the nearby bog, 



He has no suit-case or traveling trunk 



His turkey is tossed on his straw filled bunk, 



He dons his mackinaw, rubbers and stags 



He's dressed in his best with these glad rags, 



Ready for work whatever it be, 



From rolling a log, to felling a tree. 



The signal is given he's off to the wood 

 The dark, gloomy forest where centuries have stood 

 Those proud, mighty monarchs delight to men's eyes 

 Roots bedded in moss, tops reaching the skies, 

 Where up to his advent no human has trod 

 Where Nature's supreme and rules Nature's God, 

 He comes by the trail of the Moose and the Deer 

 Who fly from the path as his footsteps draw near. 



The tools he brings are saw and steel 



His sturdy stroke makes the monarch reel, 



And Nature's work of centuries old 



Is laid in the dust, and bartered for gold; 



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