Elliott C. Lincoln. Rhymes of a Homesteader, 1920.
Fighting the heat, and cold, and wet,
His chances worse than an even bet—
You’ll find the homesteader.
Eyes burned out in the summer sun,
Skin like a beefsteak underdone;
You’d think him fifty—he’s thirty-one—
But then, he’s a homesteader.
Winter comes, and his note is due
(Summer was dry, and nothing grew),
So he sells his gun, and a cow or two,
And hopes, does the homesteader.
Rough and broken his acres lie,
Half of them white with alkali;
But they mean that thing he could n’t buy—
A home—to the homesteader.
One part hero, and three parts fool,
All of him bulldog grit, as a rule.
He’s slow to learn, but he stays in school.
“Here’s How,” Mister Homesteader.