JIM

JIM

If you go to the lakeAn’ you follow the roadAs it turns to the westOf the millTill you come to a stakeA surveyor has throwedLike a knife in the breastOf the hill,An’ you follow the trackTill you come to a blazeBy the side of the sameIn a limb,You will light on the shack,In the timber a ways,Of a party whose nameIt is Jim.In a day that is flown,’Mid the great an’ the grand,In a time when his hairWasn’t gray,He was commonly knownBy a fancier brandIn a city back there,So they say.But it’s Jim, only Jim,Is the name thet he gives,When you happen to bringUp the same;It is plenty fer himIn the woods where he lives,Fer the man is the thing,Not the name.By the gleam of his eyeThet is steady an’ clear,By the way he will lookAt you square,You will know thet they lieWho would make it appearHe was maybe a crookOver there.In the church I have stood—Heard of preachin’ a lotThet I never could muchUnderstand;An’ yet never the goodFrom a sermon I gotThet I got from a clutchOf his hand.I have half an ideeThet, if back you could turnTo the start of the trailFer a spell,Thet a woman you’d see,Thet a lot you would learn—Thet the regaler taleIt would tellOf a fellah too fond,Of a woman too weak,Of another who cameTo her door—Then an endless beyond,Lips thet never must speak,An’ a man but a nameEvermore.If you go to the townAn’ you follow the street,By the glitter an’ glowOf the light,To a mansion of brownWhere the music is sweetAn’ the lute whispers lowTo the night,In the dark of a roomAt the end of a hall,Where the visions of oldFlutter in,There she sets in the gloom,She, the Cause of it all,In the midst of her goldAn’ her sin.If you go to the lakeAn’ you follow the roadAs it turns to the westOf the millTill you come to a stakeA surveyor has throwedLike a knife in the breastOf the hill,An’ you follow the trackTill you come to a blazeBy the side of the sameIn a limb,You will light on the shack,In the timber a ways,Of a party whose nameIt is Jim.

If you go to the lakeAn’ you follow the roadAs it turns to the westOf the millTill you come to a stakeA surveyor has throwedLike a knife in the breastOf the hill,An’ you follow the trackTill you come to a blazeBy the side of the sameIn a limb,You will light on the shack,In the timber a ways,Of a party whose nameIt is Jim.In a day that is flown,’Mid the great an’ the grand,In a time when his hairWasn’t gray,He was commonly knownBy a fancier brandIn a city back there,So they say.But it’s Jim, only Jim,Is the name thet he gives,When you happen to bringUp the same;It is plenty fer himIn the woods where he lives,Fer the man is the thing,Not the name.By the gleam of his eyeThet is steady an’ clear,By the way he will lookAt you square,You will know thet they lieWho would make it appearHe was maybe a crookOver there.In the church I have stood—Heard of preachin’ a lotThet I never could muchUnderstand;An’ yet never the goodFrom a sermon I gotThet I got from a clutchOf his hand.I have half an ideeThet, if back you could turnTo the start of the trailFer a spell,Thet a woman you’d see,Thet a lot you would learn—Thet the regaler taleIt would tellOf a fellah too fond,Of a woman too weak,Of another who cameTo her door—Then an endless beyond,Lips thet never must speak,An’ a man but a nameEvermore.If you go to the townAn’ you follow the street,By the glitter an’ glowOf the light,To a mansion of brownWhere the music is sweetAn’ the lute whispers lowTo the night,In the dark of a roomAt the end of a hall,Where the visions of oldFlutter in,There she sets in the gloom,She, the Cause of it all,In the midst of her goldAn’ her sin.If you go to the lakeAn’ you follow the roadAs it turns to the westOf the millTill you come to a stakeA surveyor has throwedLike a knife in the breastOf the hill,An’ you follow the trackTill you come to a blazeBy the side of the sameIn a limb,You will light on the shack,In the timber a ways,Of a party whose nameIt is Jim.

If you go to the lakeAn’ you follow the roadAs it turns to the westOf the millTill you come to a stakeA surveyor has throwedLike a knife in the breastOf the hill,An’ you follow the trackTill you come to a blazeBy the side of the sameIn a limb,You will light on the shack,In the timber a ways,Of a party whose nameIt is Jim.In a day that is flown,’Mid the great an’ the grand,In a time when his hairWasn’t gray,He was commonly knownBy a fancier brandIn a city back there,So they say.But it’s Jim, only Jim,Is the name thet he gives,When you happen to bringUp the same;It is plenty fer himIn the woods where he lives,Fer the man is the thing,Not the name.By the gleam of his eyeThet is steady an’ clear,By the way he will lookAt you square,You will know thet they lieWho would make it appearHe was maybe a crookOver there.In the church I have stood—Heard of preachin’ a lotThet I never could muchUnderstand;An’ yet never the goodFrom a sermon I gotThet I got from a clutchOf his hand.I have half an ideeThet, if back you could turnTo the start of the trailFer a spell,Thet a woman you’d see,Thet a lot you would learn—Thet the regaler taleIt would tellOf a fellah too fond,Of a woman too weak,Of another who cameTo her door—Then an endless beyond,Lips thet never must speak,An’ a man but a nameEvermore.If you go to the townAn’ you follow the street,By the glitter an’ glowOf the light,To a mansion of brownWhere the music is sweetAn’ the lute whispers lowTo the night,In the dark of a roomAt the end of a hall,Where the visions of oldFlutter in,There she sets in the gloom,She, the Cause of it all,In the midst of her goldAn’ her sin.If you go to the lakeAn’ you follow the roadAs it turns to the westOf the millTill you come to a stakeA surveyor has throwedLike a knife in the breastOf the hill,An’ you follow the trackTill you come to a blazeBy the side of the sameIn a limb,You will light on the shack,In the timber a ways,Of a party whose nameIt is Jim.

If you go to the lake

An’ you follow the road

As it turns to the west

Of the mill

Till you come to a stake

A surveyor has throwed

Like a knife in the breast

Of the hill,

An’ you follow the track

Till you come to a blaze

By the side of the same

In a limb,

You will light on the shack,

In the timber a ways,

Of a party whose name

It is Jim.

In a day that is flown,

’Mid the great an’ the grand,

In a time when his hair

Wasn’t gray,

He was commonly known

By a fancier brand

In a city back there,

So they say.

But it’s Jim, only Jim,

Is the name thet he gives,

When you happen to bring

Up the same;

It is plenty fer him

In the woods where he lives,

Fer the man is the thing,

Not the name.

By the gleam of his eye

Thet is steady an’ clear,

By the way he will look

At you square,

You will know thet they lie

Who would make it appear

He was maybe a crook

Over there.

In the church I have stood—

Heard of preachin’ a lot

Thet I never could much

Understand;

An’ yet never the good

From a sermon I got

Thet I got from a clutch

Of his hand.

I have half an idee

Thet, if back you could turn

To the start of the trail

Fer a spell,

Thet a woman you’d see,

Thet a lot you would learn—

Thet the regaler tale

It would tell

Of a fellah too fond,

Of a woman too weak,

Of another who came

To her door—

Then an endless beyond,

Lips thet never must speak,

An’ a man but a name

Evermore.

If you go to the town

An’ you follow the street,

By the glitter an’ glow

Of the light,

To a mansion of brown

Where the music is sweet

An’ the lute whispers low

To the night,

In the dark of a room

At the end of a hall,

Where the visions of old

Flutter in,

There she sets in the gloom,

She, the Cause of it all,

In the midst of her gold

An’ her sin.

If you go to the lake

An’ you follow the road

As it turns to the west

Of the mill

Till you come to a stake

A surveyor has throwed

Like a knife in the breast

Of the hill,

An’ you follow the track

Till you come to a blaze

By the side of the same

In a limb,

You will light on the shack,

In the timber a ways,

Of a party whose name

It is Jim.

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