No. 52. Nebraska Land.
TUNE: No. 34
1. We're in a land of drouth and heat,
Where nothing grows for man to eat:
The winds that blow with burning heat
O'er all this land is hard to beat.
O Nebraska land, sweet Nebraska land.
As on its burning soil I stand,
And look away across the plains,
And wonder why it never rains,
But Gabriel calls with trumpet sound
And says the rain has passed around.
2. The farmers go into their corn,
And there they stand and look around;
They look and then they are so shocked
To find the shoot has missed the stalk.
3. We have no wheat; we have no oats;
We have no corn to feed our shoats.
Our chickens are too poor to eat,
And pigs go squealing through the streets.
4. Our horses are the broncho race —
Starvation stares them in the face;
We do not live — we only stay,
And are to poor too get away.
JOHN A. DEAN.