Mining

On a hill in Montana
Stands a weatherbeaten house.
In it there lives an old miner
With no kids and no spouse.

He never got married
And he never will.
For he is content as he is
Up there on his hill.

He has a few horses
And a faithful old dog.
He has no use whatever
For a chicken or a hog.

He works for his neighbor
To buy bacon and beans.
He is never without
A few bucks in his jeans.

He spends most of his time,
With fencin’ and such.
He is stiff with arthritis,
Doesn’t accomplish very much.

He gets tired of fencin’
And stackin” the hay.
He would rather go mining,
Though it mostly don’t pay.

It is interesting work
And gets in the blood.
He is happy when digging
In hardrock, or mud.

While he’s mining he works
Like a man half his age.
At other jobs he worries
Like a bird in a cage.

Though he never made a dime
While looking for ore.
He is always ready
To try it once more.

It isn’t likely at mining
He will ever get rich.
But it is a lot more fun
Than shoveling a ditch.

While sinking a shaft
In rock harder than hell.
He doesn’t get half as tired
As when he’s digging a well.

He is always hoping
Some highrade to find.
But you wouldn’t understand,
If you never have mined.

Though it is the searching and working
That makes him look old.
He is never so happy,
As when digging for gold.

For there is always a chance
That the very next round,
Will uncover great riches
In that old stubborn ground.

At last when he’s dead
And prayed over in church.
If he didn’t get rich,
He had the fun of the search.

Copyright KB, 1968, Scribblings from a Hermits Pen

Rock of Ages, cleft by me,

 

 

Let me find, some gold in Thee.

Find some gold, and silver too,

Or a lot, of lead would do.

            Rock of Ages, share with me,

            The sight of gold, I want to see.

 

Through desert heat, and arctic cold,

I have searched, this land for gold.

Many a mile, on tired feet,

No water to drink, and naught to eat.

            Rock of Ages, don’t torture me,

            Release Thy gold, and set it free.

 

Sometime soon, as a surprise,

Please guide my feet, to where it lies.

Just let me get, a sight of it.

After that, I will do my bit.

            Rock of Ages, hard and tight,

            A little silver, would be alright.

 

Many partners, I have had,

Some were good, and some were bad.

For the good ones, I wish the best,

Old Satan he, can have the rest.

            Rock of Ages, soon show Thy gold

            For I am getting, tired and old.

 

I am drilling now, far underground,

I’ll surely hit it, in one more round.

I’ll load the holes, and then I’ll shoot,

Please let me see, a lot of loot.

            Rock of Ages, hear my plea,

            Let me find, some gold in Thee.

 

Many times, when I’ve been forlorn,

I’ve cursed the day, that I was born.

When with my wishes, you’d not comply,

I have given up, and hoped to die.

            When in Thy folds, I could not find,

            A single ‘color’, of any kind.

 

With just a little, help from you,

I could find enough, to see me through.

If only pity, on me you’d take,

I’d dig the gold, and have a stake.

            Oh! Rock of Ages, hard and bleak,

            Let me find, just one pay streak.

 

Though little gold, I have ever found,

I always have drilled, another round,

With your help, and with my sweat,

I hope to find, a little yet.

            Oh! Ancient Rock, hear my request,

            Please open up, and do your best.

 

I beg of you, Oh! Stubborn rocks,

I can’t take many, more hard knocks,

My back is bent, my eyes are dim,

My chances for luck, are getting slim.

            Oh! Rock of Ages, it’s a sad fact,

            You’ve been too hard, and too compact.

 

If you will soften, up a bit,

I’ll give the poor, about half of it.

Please change Thy ways, and have a heart,

Before this life, I do depart.

            I want to find, some color in Thee,

            Before my maker, sends for me.

 

When at last, I’m laid to rest

And the sod, is o’er me pressed,

On my headstone, these words so cold,

“He spent his life, in search of gold.”

            Oh! Rock of Ages, hear my prayer,

            And let me find, some gold up there.

If you think of going mining,

 

Better stop and think some more.

For if you do, you’ll be worse off

Than you ever were before.

 

Every cent you can beg or borrow,

Will go into the ground.

You never will be satisfied,

‘Till you have drilled another ‘round’.

 

You will work like a fool

From daylight ‘till dark,

You will find that mining

Isn’t muck of a lark.

 

What little rest you get

Won’t do you much good.

When you should be sleeping,

You’ll be out rustling wood.

 

The wind will come down the pipe,

Fill the cabin with smoke.

You can’t get your breath,

And will finally choke.

 

In the summer you’ll roast.

In the winter you’re cold.

You won’t find any lead,

Much less any gold.

 

If you do find a paystreak,

The market will drop.

It will keep going down,

It never will stop.

 

Your powder will freeze

Your fuse won’t burn.

You will be so disgusted

You won’t give a durn.

 

The drills won’t cut,

The rock won’t break.

You’ll wish you could die

When you get a ‘powder headache’.

 

If you have a compressor,

The motor won’t run.

You will find that mining

Sure isn’t much fun.

 

Your grub will be mostly,

Spuds, rabbits and beans.

You will ruin your shoes,

And wear out your jeans.

 

When you’re drilling, or mucking

Your light will go out.

You will mutter and cuss,

As you stumble about.

 

You will long for the sunshine

As you shovel and dig.

When you get out of the tunnel

You feel like dancing a jib.

 

The snow will start falling

And piling up high.

If a slide catches you, they will sing

“In the Sweet Bye and Bye”.

 

The drifts will get deeper,

And as deeper they get,

The more you will worry,

The more you will fret.

 

As you wallow in snow

Clear up to your neck.

You’re blue with the cold

And a glibbering wreck.

 

As you slip and fall

And flounder and curse.

You wonder if ‘hell’

Could be any worse?

 

The ‘porkies’ and rats

Will drive you insane.

You vow you will never

Go mining again.

 

The rats chew your blankets

They ruin your grub.

You chase ‘porkies’ all night

With flashlight and club.

 

I’ll tell you this, for whatever it’s worth,

Before you tackle that tough old earth.

Don’t start to mine, ‘less you know what you’re about,

More money has been sunk, than has been taken out.

 

It’s a slow tough job, takes lots of sweat

And elbow grease, you can safely bet,

You’ll be older, and wiser, and poorer too,

And wore to a frazzle, before you’re thru.

 

Your gas will be half water,

Your airline will part.

I tell you you’re licked

Before you can start.

 

Your partners will quit,

Leave you holding the sack.

Creditors will take the shirt,

Off your poor aching back.

 

Your hair will be gray, if you have any left?

The old money poke, won’t have any heft.

Your back will be bent, creaking and sore,

You used to be strong, but not anymore.

 

Your joints are stiff, your teeth are no good.

If you talk about mining, you’re not understood.

When you smell good vittles, you slobber and drool,

People call you “that crazy old fool”.

 

Your time is about up, you can’t stand the cold

You’ll be sent to the poor house, will do as you’re told.

When your time comes to die, you’ll die all alone,

Too late to do different, you had to be shown.

 

No one to care for, nor to care in return.

Heaven is off limits, you’ll just have to burn.

So think once again, before mining you go,

I know from experience, it’s a hard row to hoe.

 

KB, 1968, Scribblings from a Hermits Pen