The Epic Of The Hog.

A poem by Edwin C. Ranck

(Man's Inhumanity to Hogs Makes Countless Thousands Squeal.)

I lived upon a little farm,
A happy hog was I,
I never dreamed of any harm
Nor ever thought to die.

All day I wallowed in the mud,
And ate the choicest slops.
I watched the brindles chew their cud--
The farmer tend his crops.

Upon the hottest days I'd go
And flounder in the river--
I thought that hogs might come and go,
But I would live forever.

Then finally I waxed so fat
That I could hardly walk,
And then the farmers gather 'round
And all began to talk.

I couldn't understand a word,
All I did was grunt;
You see that's all a hog can do--
It is his only stunt.

But finally they took me out
And put me on a train.
I really couldn't move about
And squealed with might and main.

I grunted, grunted as I flew
And moved in vain endeavor,
But even then I thought it true
That I would live forever.

And so we came to Packingtown
Where there were hogs galore,
I never saw so many hogs
In all my life before.

Then we had to shoot the chutes
And climb a flight of stairs,
We never had a chance to stop
Or time to say our prayers.

Loud-squealing hogs above, below
They formed a seething river,
For men may come and men may go
But hogs go on forever.

And then I saw an iron wheel
Which stood alone in state,
And then I heard an awful squeal--
A hog had met his fate.

A devilish chain upon the wheel
Had seized him by the leg;
It was no use to kick and squeal,
It was no use to beg.

I longed in deepest grief and woe
To leave that brimming river;
If once into that room you go
Your fate is sealed forever.

Farewell, Farewell, a long farewell,
Around the room I spin,
And then a fellow with a knife
Smites me below the chin.


Dear reader I was just a hog,
But O it's awful hard
To die disgraced, and then to be--
Turned into "Pure Leaf Lard."

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