You pack up your dreams in a four-by-ten wagon,
It looks like a ship with a sail,
Your neighbors in old Pennsylvania are waving
Farewell…by the side of the trail.
You tell ev’rybody “There’s land up in Oregon,
You’ll find you a farm that don’t fail,
You’ll stop with your children each evening for supper,
And cook by the side of the trail.
But out in Nebraska there’s late falling snow into April,
You wake up one morning…the frostbite took three of your toes;
Your children are sleeping so sweetly and so sadly so peaceful…
They’ll sleep there together long after the wagon train goes.
You’ll raise some new children when you’re up in Oregon,
And you and your wife will prevail,
But some nights you’ll dream of those little wood crosses
Back there…by the side of the road.