THE OLD PIONEERS.
They have come from the valley, and from the mountains down,
They are gathered from the country, from the city and the town,
They came to swap reminiscences of time now on the wane,
Of the anxious months of danger, of "the trip across the plains."
Their ranks are getting thinner and their forms are bending low,
Their eyes are growing dimmer and their locks are white as snow,
Give them every comfort, tho' they carry well their years,
They are grand old men and women, these "Old Pioneers."
Let their annual reunions continue ever on
Until the last old pilgrim among them is gone!
They have sown the golden wheat where the camas once did grow,
And the palace car now follows the trail the pack mule used to go.
The schoolhouse takes the place of the Indian "Wickeyup,"
And they who wrought the change deserve the "Golden Cup."
Scatter flowers in their pathway, adown declining years,
They are grand old men and women, these "Old Pioneers."
—E. S. McComas.
