THE "BULL SPRING."

When the burning sun of Summer shines from out a brassy sky,

And has parched and browned the meadows, and the creek's run dry,

O sweet it is to wander there and hear the water sing

It's rippling song of gladness from the

Old

"Bull

Spring!"

Since Logan and the pioneers first stood upon its bank,

And heard it gurgle from the rock, and of its waters drank,

With ceaseless music in its flow, like silvery chimes that ring,

Has been the song of gladness from the

Old

"Bull

Spring!"

Around about the fields and woods of old "Magnolia" spread—

Indigenous to "tansy"—"mint"—and the lithe-limbed thoroughbred;

And far above, on drowsy wing, the crow seems listening

To the rippling song of gladness from the

Old

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