OVER THE TRAPPING AGINES 
IGH up the hills are cronies sitting 
With breezes blowing gently by ; 
Far from camp they sit waiting 
For the dewy leaves to dry. 
O’er the trapping line repairing, 
Tenting here on their return ; 
Now the morning much enjoying 
With the rising of the sun. 
Just behind them poles and crotches, 
Blackened back logs and the embers ; 
Bed of fir boughs and the impress 
Speaking all of quiet slumbers. 
For their safe and restful sleeping 
Thankful hearts, the cronies feel 
To the One that has the keeping 
Of the wildwood, hill and dale. 
Breakfasted at early dawning, 
Now the sun has just arisen ; 
‘Tis a bright September morning, 
Bidding fine for day and even’g. 
