Part 44

This ballad was composed in 1925 by Jilson Setters, when Floyd Collins was trapped in a salt mine near Mammoth Cave, Kentucky.

Come all you friends and neighbors And listen to what I say, I'll relate to you a story, Of a man who passed away. He struggled hard for freedom, His heart was true and brave, While his comrades they were toiling His precious life to save.

His name was Floyd Collins, Exploring he did crave. But he never dreamed that he'd be trapped In a lonely sandstone cave. His entrance it was easy, His heart was light and gay, But his mind was filled with trouble When he found he'd lost his way.

He wandered through the cavern, He knew not where to go, He knew he was imprisoned, His heart was full of woe. He started for the entrance That he had passed that day. A large and mighty boulder Had slipped down in his way.

The stone was slowly creeping But that he did not know, Underneath he found an opening He thought that he could go. He soon got tired and worried, He soon then had to rest, The boulder still was creeping, It was tightening on his chest.

He lost all hopes of freedom, No farther could he go; His agony was desperate, That you all well know. His weeping parents lingered near; A mother gray and old. Soon poor Floyd passed away And heaven claimed his soul.

A note was in his pocket, The neighbors chanced to find; These few lines were written While he had strength and mind: "Give this note to mother, Tell her not to cry; Tell her not to wait for me, I will meet her by and by."

--Jilson Setters

This ballad was written by fifty-year-old Adam Crisp who lived in Fletcher, North Carolina, at the time of Collins' death. Crisp could neither read nor write but composed many ballads.

FLOYD COLLINS' FATE

Come all you young people And listen to what I tell: The fate of Floyd Collins, Alas, we all know well. His face was fair and handsome, His heart was true and brave, His body now lies sleeping In a lonely sandstone cave.

How sad, how sad the story, It fills our eyes with tears, His memory will linger For many, many a year. His broken-hearted father Who tried his boy to save Will now weep tears of sorrow At the door of Floyd's cave.

Oh, mother, don't you worry, Dear father, don't be sad; I'll tell you all my troubles In an awful dream I had; I dreamed that I was prisoner, My life could not be saved, I cried, "Oh! must I perish, Within the silent cave?"

The rescue party gathered, They labored night and day To move the mighty boulder That stood within the way. "To rescue Floyd Collins!" This was the battlecry. "We will never, no, we will never Let Floyd Collins die."

But on that fatal morning The sun rose in the sky, The workers still were busy, "We will save him by and by." But, oh, how sad the evening, His life they could not save, His body then was sleeping Within the lonely cave.

Young people all take warning With this, for you and I, We may not be like Collins, But you and I must die. It may not be in a sand cave In which we find our tomb, But at that mighty judgment We soon will find our doom.

--Adam Crisp

PATRIOT

IT'S GREAT TO BE AN AMERICAN

For long years the members of the Hamm family in Rowan County, Kentucky, both old and young, have gathered on a Sunday in the month of August for their mountain Eisteddfod. Upon this occasion there is friendly rivalry as to whose ballad or poem is best, who speaks his composition best. And the prize, you may be sure, is not silver but a book of poems. This composition of Nannie Hamm Carter was read at their mountain Eisteddfod in August, 1940.

It's great to be an American, And live on peaceful shores, Where we hear not the sound of marching feet, And the war-clouds come no more. Where the Statue of Liberty ever stands, A beacon of hope for all, Heralding forth to every land That by it we stand or fall.

It's great to be an American, For wherever we may go, It is an emblem of truth and right, A challenge to every foe. It's great to be free and unfettered, And know not wars or strife, Where man to man united, Can live a carefree life,

While men are falling hour by hour Upon some foreign shore Amidst the roar of battle there, Ne'er to return no more. They're offered as a sacrifice, Upon the altar there, With no one there to sympathize, Or shed for them a tear.

Where men are marching 'mid the strife, Where there, day after day, There's danger and there's loss of life Where conquerors hold sway. They bow to rulers' stern commands, They face the deadly foe, While far away in other lands, There's sorrow, pain and woe.

But not so in America, The birthplace of the free. For 'midst the conflict Over There, With loss of life and liberty, It's a privilege to know, That in a world, so fraught with pain, We feel secure from every foe Where naught but fellowship remains.

For in our free country, We hear not the battlecry, We hear not the bugle's solemn call, When men go forth to die. For over all this land of ours The Stars and Stripes still wave, Waving forth in triumph O'er this homeland of the brave.

Hats off! to our own America, With pride we now can say, We bow not down to rulers, For justice still holds sway. God keep us free from scenes like those That are in other lands, Where the shell-shocked and the wounded Are there on every hand.

So, it's great to be an American, We'll stand by our flag always, For right shall not perish from the earth As long as truth holds sway; As long as her sons are united In a cause that's just and true, The bells of freedom still will ring, Ring out for me and you.