Often when we lay in bed in the middle of the night,
  How the prairie-wolves would howl their jubilee! 
Then Mollie she would waken in a shiver and a fright,
  Clasp our baby-pet and snuggle up to me.

There were hardships you may guess, and enough of weary toil
  For the first few years, but then it was so grand
To see the corn and wheat waving o’er the virgin soil,
  And two stout and loving hearts went hand in hand.

But Mollie took the fever when our second babe was born,
  And she lay upon the bed as white as snow;
And my idle cultivator lay a rusting in the corn;
  And the doctor said poor Mollie she must go.

Now I never prayed before, but I fell upon my knees,
  And I prayed as never any preacher prayed;
And Mollie always said that it broke the fell disease;
  And I truly think the Lord He sent us aid: 

For the fever it was broken, and she took a bit of food,
  And O then I went upon my knees again;
And I never cried before,—­and I never thought I could,—­
  But my tears they fell upon her hand like rain.

And I think the Lord has blessed us ever since I prayed the prayer,
  For my crops have never wanted rain or dew: 
And Mollie often said in the days of debt and care,
  “Don’t you worry, John, the Lord will help us through.”

For the “pesky,” painted Sioux, in the fall of ’sixty-two,
  Came a-whooping on their ponies o’er the plain,
And they killed my pigs and cattle, and I tell you it looked “blue,”
  When they danced around my blazing stacks of grain.

And the settlers mostly fled, but I didn’t have a chance,
  So I caught my hunting-rifle long and true,
And Mollie poured the powder while I made the devils dance,
  To a tune that made ’em jump and tumble, too.

And they fired upon the cabin; ’twas as good as any fort,
  But the “beauties” wouldn’t give us any rest;
For they skulked and blazed away, and I didn’t call it sport,
  For I had to do my very “level best.”

Now they don’t call me a coward, but my Mollie she’s a “brick;”
  For she chucked the children down the cellar-way,
And she never flinched a hair tho’ the bullets pattered thick,
  And we held the “painted beauties” well at bay.

But once when I was aiming, a bullet grazed my head,
  And it cut the scalp and made the air look blue;
Then Mollie straightened up like a soldier and she said: 
  “Never mind it, John, the Lord will help us through.”

And you bet it raised my “grit,” and I never flinched a bit,
  And my nerves they got as strong as steel or brass;
And when I fired again I was sure that I had hit,
  For I saw the skulking devil “claw the grass.”

Well, the fight was long and hot, and I got a charge of shot
  In the shoulder, but it never broke a bone;
And I never stopped to think whether I was hit or not
  Till we found our ammunition almost gone.