Poem by Robert William Service

The Little Old Log Cabin

When a man gits on his uppers in a hard-pan sort of town,
  An' he ain't got nothin' comin', an' he can't afford ter eat,
An' he's in a fix fer lodgin', an' he wanders up an' down,
  An' you'd fancy he'd been boozin', he's so locoed 'bout the feet;
When he's feelin' sneakin' sorry, an' his belt is hangin' slack,
  An' his face is peaked an' grey-like, an' his heart gits down an'
  whines,
Then he's apt ter git a-thinkin' an' a-wishin' he was back
  In the little ol' log cabin in the shadder of the pines.

When he's on the blazin' desert, an' his canteen's sprung a leak,
  An' he's all alone an' crazy, an' he's crawlin' like a snail,
An' his tongue's so black an' swollen that it hurts him fer to speak,
  An' he gouges down fer water, an' the raven's on his trail;
When he's done with care and cursin', an' he feels more like to cry,
  An' he sees ol' Death a-grinnin', an' he thinks upon his crimes,
Then he's like ter hev' a vision, as he settles down ter die,
  Of the little ol' log cabin an' the roses an' the vines.

Oh, the little ol' log cabin, it's a solemn shinin' mark
  When a feller gits ter sinnin', an' a-goin' ter the wall,
An' folks don't understand him, an' he's gropin' in the dark,
  An' he's sick of bein' cursed at, an' he's longin' fer his call:
When the sun of life's a-sinkin' you can see it 'way above,
  On the hill from out the shadder in a glory 'gin the sky,
An' your mother's voice is callin', an' her arms are stretched in love,
  An' somehow you're glad you're goin', an' you ain't a-scared to die;
When you'll be like a kid again, an' nestle to her breast,
  An' never leave its shelter, an' forget, an' love, an' rest.

1. The Rhyme of the Remittance Man
2. The March of the Dead
3. “Fighting Mac”
4. Bessie's Boil
5. The Younger Son

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