'Twas way back yonder, tradition relates,
A Shields from Coots Hill, Ireland, did imigrate.
'Twas William, the stories agree,
Married and started this old family tree.
Seven sons, if I remember not,
Each one a patriot,
Chased the redcoats up and down
And scooped them up at old Yorktown.
John then, with a very small band,
Went down into Virginia to take up land,
He married a lassie to us unknown,
But that's what kept the tree a growing.
Next was William, who took a chance
And married a girl by the name of France,
And out of this union of gold and steel
Came my grandfather, Preston Shields,
Who over the mountain and at his side
Trudged Dlilah Fulkerton, a newly bride.
Now the second one up there, out from the sap,
He's the one I call my Pap.
Pap in his courtship sure did fine,
When he married my mother, Margaret Cline.
How you count up, one, two, three, and then
The next is me and I am Ben
Twenty-five years of sun and toil
Before I struck the matrimonial trail.
'Twas then a chance came in my life
And Mary Farley became my wife.
The stork flew by and left us three,
Arthur, Dick, and little Russel,
'Twas for them that we did hustle.
Cruel war, sickness and hope forlorn,
'Tis for Arthur we all mourn.
And now away up yonder on the topmost limb
Is Janet and Patty and Susie and Jim.