The old plank road once angled
Through the Hoosier countryside.
It wandered through the rolling hills,
It crossed the rivers wide.
Once it was a beaten pathway
Where the Indians used to roam;
Long before the early settlers
Came in search of frontier homes.
Then the wheels of covered wagons
Rolled along the Indian trail;
And the wilderness was altered
With each plank, and log, and rail.
Through the bogs, and swamps, and marshes
The rough-hewn planks were placed,
And the footprints of the Indians
Forever were erased.
The road was rough and bumpy,
But it served a wanting need
In days when it was traveled
By old Johnny Appleseed.
One can hardly see the traces,
Along this old road now,
Of early days when oxen
Once pulled a bar-share plow.
When, through the darkened woodlands,
The tallow candles gleamed;
And here and there a covered bridge
Would span a winding stream.
The plank road was a highway,
In days of strife and toil,
As early settler’s hopes and dreams
Took root in Hoosier soil.