They are harvesting in the valley of the Jim.
I
can hear the reapers clatter; sounds rather low and dim,
See the
yellow fields a wavin' and the shocks in crooked rows,
And the
house, and barn, an' mother a-hangin out the clothes.
See the
cattle in the pasture, an the poor old limpin' mule.
An the yellow
heifer, standin', in the water deepin' cool.
I suppose you think me
silly, an' my whim
But I wish that I was back there, "In the valley
of the Jim."
Now its fall and they are threshing and a plowing up
the ground,
An the air is sort o hazy and the gulls are sailin'
round,
An the sun looks kind o yellow in the smoky afternoon;
An at even you can listen to the steamers busy time,
See horses
coming home from work and smell their sweaty coats,
Now it growin'
sort o dusky and the'r doing up the chores.
In the kitchen fires
all burnin' and its chilly out o' doors,
Oh, I wish that I was
back there, "In the valley of the Jim."