Paul Austin Kelly - Ballad Of Johnny Appleseed Lyrics
In the great Ohio ValleyThe old farmers tell a storyThat their fathers told to themAll the way back to 1840The story of a ghostThat sings above the rustling treesAnd the farmers know the name for himJohnny AppleseedHe was born John ChapmanAnd his brother was NathanielFrom a farm in MassachusettsThey lit out for PennsylvaniaAnd he told his brotherAll about his dreamNat, someday they'll have a name for meJohnny AppleseedREFRAINApple seeds, take and sow themApple seeds, take and grow themThey will bring you in good timeSummer pies and Autumn wineIs that coffee that you're brewing, my good lady?And he gathered up his treasureAt the cider mills round PittsburghHe packed them into buckskin sacksSo he could barely lift'emThen he lashed together two birch bark canoesAnd he bid Nathaniel fair-thee-wellAnd Nat bid him adieuHis voice sang o'er the watersAnd it made the settlers shiverAs they fished along the banksOf the great Ohio RiverAs he paddled up the branching streamsThrough the marshes and the reedsHe would call his name out loud and clearJohnny Appleseed(REFRAIN)Then he slung his pack across his backAnd on his head a tin potAnd he wandered through the forests wildSeeking out the right spots“There's going to be an orchard here someday,”He'd say to all the squirrels“Don't take these seeds away!”One day he found a trading postWhere trappers bartered fur skinsAnd he traded fists of apple seedsFor a bony horse named HawkinsAnd lying nearby in the weedsWas a wolf pup in a bear trapCrying, “Johnny Appleseed!”Well, he opened up that trapMade a splint and bound his leg upThen they hit the road togetherJohnny, Hawkins, and the wolf pupThe power of apples was their only creedAnd his name and fame spread far and nearHe was Johnny Appleseed(REFRAIN)So they journeyed through the forestsDown the valleys, along riversAnd they witnessed the arrivalOf the potters and the weaversThe blacksmiths and the carpenters all cameTo this vast and fastly growing landTo conquer and to tameIn the spring of 1845At an Indiana farmhouseHe slept up in a hay loftWhere a barn cat chased a field mouseAnd his soul that night did softly slip awayWhile the birds sang all the whole night throughAt least that's what they sayNow his spirit haunts the valleyOf the great Ohio RiverAs he brews his coffee o'er a fireSome still can feel the shiverAs he sings above the rustling of the treesYou can hear the wind a-whisperingJohnny Appleseed
