SNAKES HISSED BUT ALLOWED HIM TO PASS (JOHNNY APPLESEED)

                                                                JOHNNY APPLESEED


                                              In the year eighteen hundred, there came to Ohio

                                               A man who made people shout: "Oh!  Me, oh my‑oh!""

                                               For no one, I'm sure, was as funny and quaint

                                               As this tattered, rain‑spattered, wind‑battered old saint.          

                                               His shirt was an apple sack, ragged, at that,                 

                                               And he wore in all weather a saucepan for hat!

                                                   His shirt was an apple sack, ragged, at that,                 

                                                   And he wore in all weather a saucepan for hat!

                                                   A battered old Bible tucked under his arm

                                                  Was all his defense against danger and harm,

                                           As barefoot he strode through the weeds and the grass

                                               Where rattlesnakes hissed, but allowed him to pass.

                                                   So friendly and merry, and simple in needs,

                                           He walked through the countryside, scattering seeds

                                Which grew into orchards whose summery blooms

                                              Still give us their treasure of fruits and perfumes.

                                          By the time that his hair had grown whiter than cotton,

                                           His name, Johnny Chapman, had long been forgotten;

                                                                                                                           Artist Leo Harrington                                                                       

                                                  For everyone hearing his whistle or song                                     

                                              Said, "That's Johnny Appl eseed coming along!"

                                                    Dear Johnny Appleseed, gentle of fame,

                                             His children, the orchards, still whisper his name;

                                                  And because of his labor so merry and wise,

                                             The world's full of blossom— and puddings and pies!