But the "Rangers" came at last--just as we were out of lead,--
And I thanked the Lord, and Mollie thanked Him, too;
Then she put her arms around my neck and sobbed and cried and said:
"Bless the Lord!--I knew that He would help us through."
And yonder on the hooks hangs that same old trusty gun,
And above it--I am sorry they're so few--
Hang the black and braided trophies[BX] yet that I and Mollie won
In that same old bloody battle with the Sioux.
[BX] Scalp-locks.
Fifteen years have rolled away since I laid my knapsack down,
And my prairie claim is now one field of grain;
And yonder down the lake loom the steeples of a town,
And my flocks are feeding out upon the plain.
The old log-house is standing filled with bins of corn and wheat,
And the cars they whistle past our cottage-home;
But my span of spanking trotters they are "just about" as fleet,
And I wouldn't give my farm to rule in Rome.
For Mollie and I are young yet, and monarchs, too, are we--
Of a "section" just as good as lies out-doors;
And the children are so happy (and Mollie and I have three)
And we think that we can "lie upon our oars.
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