Emigrant’s Song
Since things are so hard I must tell you sweetheart
that I must leave off with my plough and my cart
Away to Wisconsin a journey I'll go
To double my fortune as other folks do
While here I must labor each day in the field
And the winter consumes what the summer doth yield.
Dear husband, I've noticed with a sorrowful heart
That you have neglected your plough and your cart,
Your hogs, sheep and cattle at random do run
And your best Sunday jacket goes every day on.
Now stick to your farm and you'll suffer no loss
For a stone that keeps rolling will gather no moss.
Dear wife, let's be going and don't let us wait;
I long to be going, I long to be great.
You will be some rich lady, and who knows but I
Will be some great governor before that I die?
While here I must labor all day in the field
And the winter consumes what the summer doth yield.
Oh, husband, remember the land will be dear,
And you'll have to labor for many a year.
your hogs, sheep and cattle will all be to buy
And you'll scarcely get settled before you will die.
So stick to your farm and you'll suffer no loss,
For a stone that keeps rolling will gather no moss.
Oh wife, let's be going and don't let us stand
I will purchase a farm that is all cleared by hand,
Where the hogs, sheep and cattle are not very dear
And we'll feast on fat buffalo half of the year.
While here I must labor all day in the field
And the winter consumes what the summer doth yield.
Dear husband, remember that land of delight,
Is surrounded by Indians by day and by night
They will plunder your house and burn to to the ground
While your wife and your children lie murdered around.
So stick to your farm and you'll suffer no loss,
For a stone that keeps rolling will gather no moss.
Dear wife, you've convinced me; I'll argue no more
For I never once thought of the Indians before.
My children I love them, although they are small,
And you, my dear wife, I love better than all.
So I'll stick to my farm and I'll suffer to loss,
For a stone that keeps rolling will father no moss.
