|Dreams Are Best
- I just think that dreams are best,
- Just to sit and fancy things;
- When you're lost in the Wild, and you're scared as a child,
- And Death looks you bang in the eye,
|The Cow-Juice Cure
- The clover was in blossom, an' the year was at the June,
- When Flap-jack Billy hit the town, likewise O'Flynn's saloon.
|While the Bannock Bakes|
- Light up your pipe again, old chum, and sit awhile with me;
- I've got to watch the bannock bake -- how restful is the air!
|The Lost Master
- "And when I come to die," he said,
- "Ye shall not lay me out in state,
- Come out, O Little Moccasins, and frolic on the snow!
- Come out, O tiny beaded feet, and twinkle in the light!
- The Wanderlust has lured me to the seven lonely seas,
- Has dumped me on the tailing-piles of dearth;
|The Trapper's Christmas Eve
- It's mighty lonesome-like and drear.
- Above the Wild the moon rides high,
|The World's All Right
- The World's all right; serene I sit,
- And cease to puzzle over it.
|The Baldness of Chewed-Ear
- When Chewed-ear Jenkins got hitched up to Guinneyveer McGee,
- His flowin' locks, ye recollect, wuz frivolous an' free;
- There will be a singing in your heart,
- There will be a rapture in your eyes;
- The lone man gazed and gazed upon his gold,
- His sweat, his blood, the wage of weary days;
- Three score and ten, the psalmist saith,
- And half my course is well-nigh run;
|The Squaw Man
- The cow-moose comes to water, and the beaver's overbold,
- The net is in the eddy of the stream;
|Home and Love
- Just Home and Love! the words are small
- Four little letters unto each;
|I'm Scared of it All
- I'm scared of it all, God's truth! so I am;
- It's too big and brutal for me.
|A Song of Success
- Ho! we were strong, we were swift, we were brave.
- Youth was a challenge, and Life was a fight.
|The Song of the Camp-Fire
- Heed me, feed me, I am hungry, I am red-tongued with desire;
- Boughs of balsam, slabs of cedar, gummy fagots of the pine,
- "I'm taking pen in hand this night, and hard it is for me;
- My poor old fingers tremble so, my hand is stiff and slow,
|The Man Who Knew
- The Dreamer visioned Life as it might be,
- And from his dream forthright a picture grew,
- In the moonless, misty night, with my little pipe alight,
- I am sitting by the camp-fire's fading cheer;
|The Passing of the Year
- My glass is filled, my pipe is lit,
- My den is all a cosy glow;
- Smith, great writer of stories, drank; found it immortalised his pen;
- Fused in his brain-pan, else a blank, heavens of glory now and then;
|Good-Bye, Little Cabin
- O dear little cabin, I've loved you so long,
- And now I must bid you good-bye!
|Heart o' the North
- And when I come to the dim trail-end,
- I who have been Life's rover,
|The Scribe's Prayer
- When from my fumbling hand the tired pen falls,
- And in the twilight weary droops my head;