THE SONG OF THE PIPE
When the night air is shading 'round you,
And the lake is lying still;
When you hear the evening tuning,
Of the lonely whippoorwill;
When the woods are big and silent,
And the world seems all at rest;
And the cheerful fire is blazing,
Then your good old pipe is best.
When you are tired out from tramping,
Through the winding forest ways;
And you've had your trout and coffee,
And you dream of future days;
When you sit close to the fire,
Then the time is surely ripe;
With the owl's bark resounding,
To fill up the good old pipe.
When the dreary rain is falling,
And the world is wet and gray;
When the loon's long, dismal holler,
Rolls out clear and dies away;
When the woods are all adripping,
From the alder to the oak;
Then just lay back in your chair,
And hit good old pipe, and smoke.
-Earle P. Stafford
APRIL AD 