From the Rock Island Argus, June 9, 1913. By S. E. Kiser. Each day he watched the trains go by; He’d pause behind his plow to gaze, And many a time he heaved a sigh And thought he wasted precious days; The breeze blew sweetly from the sky, His flocks and herds grazed on the slopes, But, turning when the trains went past, His countenance was overcast And envy blighted all his hopes. His children played among the trees, His fields were wide and rich and green; A thousand things were there to please By adding beauty to the scene. But, longing for the sight of seas And far-off mountains looming high, A dozen times a day he turned And in his bosom envy burned What time he watched the trains go by. He looked across his acres wide And saw his billowy fields of wheat, And heard the thundering trains and sighed, Although the breeze was soft and sweet. And many a weary one who spied Him standing out there brown and grim Thought of his freedom from all care, Thought of his independence there, And, riding onward, envied him.