From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 89-90.
IRRIGATE YOUR EDEN
Believe me if all those endearing young charms,
Possessed by your fair spouse,
Are going to stay, you’ll have to pay
For water in the house.
There’s a long, long trail a-winding
Down to the farm-yard pump,
And if you maker her travel it
You are a selfish chump.
“Drink to me only with thine eyes,”
Is very fine to sing,
But in the use of household juice,
It doesn’t mean a thing.
To hew the wood that cooks the food
And then to tote the water,
It is not fair to make the share
Of mother, wife or daughter.
O in the Suanee river
And between the Wabash banks,
A lot of water runs to waste
That we might store in tanks,
While many wives have up and died,
And others wanted to,
Because they had no pipes of lead
[90]
With water gurgling through.
Silver threads among the gold,
The passing years will send;
Don’t hasten them — have iron pipes
With spigots in the end.