Category: Poem

The sawdust Trail poem

This poem was sent to Billy and Ma c.1922. It is housed in Morgan Library at Grace College.

Transcription

THE SAW-DUST TRAIL

The Devil sure is hiding out
Since Billy Sunday came to town;
He’s getting knocked and cuffed about,
For Billy’s surely got him down.
He smashed his nose and blacked his eye—
The Devil howled a mighty wail
When sinners heard the pleading cry
And marched along the saw-dust trail.

The Devil now is quite a monk
Since Billy tore his mask aside;
He does not show one bit of spunk—
Begs us to spare his rotten hide;
With injured look and sickly smile
He hopes that pity will avail.
Ah no! for hundreds yet will file
Right down along the saw-dust trail.

The primrose path where evil lures
Is shown in all its bleak despair;
All pleasures fade—not one endures—
When we have reached old Satan’s lair.
And Billy shows the hateful Thing
That makes our lives a woeful tale;
You almost hear Hell’s anvils ring,
And we are drawn to hit the trail.

His doctrines may not all be clear,
But Billy’s surely fighting sin;
We know his motives are sincere,
And we can’t help from joining in.
He makes you see the battle strong
That’s not for cowards who would quail;
We join the right against the wrong,
And march right down the saw-dust trail!

Old Satan thought he had a cinch
On Charleston souls, both young and old;
But now he knows he’s in a pinch,
For Billy’s punch has knocked him cold.
Aggressive Right will always win—
The Serpent knows he’s doomed to fail;
He cowers low, with sickly grin,
When strong men hit the saw-dust trail!

Charleston, W. Va.
March 20, 1922.

T. J. Honaker

“With my compliments, and very great admiration for ‘Billy.’”

Poem sent from Wilkes-Barre, PA to Billy Sunday c May 1913

Just prior to starting the late April 1913 South Bend revival campaign, Billy Sunday finished his campaign in Wilkes-Barre, PA. He was apparently sorely missed just days afterward as a citizen-employee from Vulcan Ironworks sent this poem to the South Bend Tribune, published Mon, May 05, 1913 ·Page 7.

Copyright 1908. Author’s Collection.

Tribute to Sunday.

Tell your friends, we knew a fellow

Who’s the real thing through and through.

He’s a friend well worth having,

And he’ll be a friend to you.

When he came to old Wilkes-Barre,

Some of us were pretty tough.

And we thought that Billy Sunday

Was a grafter, sure enough.

But, one night we went to hear him—

With a banner and his band—

And we found that Billy Sunday

Is the best man in all the land.

How he hits the old ‘booze-fighter,’

And his cussing, spewing life—

Tells you how he starves his children,

Kills his poor, long-suffering wife.

Then he preaches Christ the Saviour

And His divine love, until

All the crowds just melt around you,

“Leaving God and you and ‘Bill.'”

When he says, ‘Don’t trust your feelings

“Come to Christ. He’ll never fail.’

And he holds his hand out pleading,

‘Fore you know, you’ve hit the trail.

Why, he makes sin seem so awful,

And religion seems so grand,

That you wish ten thousand “Billies”

Could sweep over this whole land.

But the best part can’t be told, friends,

How God fills your heart with peace,

And with hope and strength and courage,

And with joys that never cease.

So, three cheers for “Billy” Sunday,

Yes, three cheers, and three times three,

For the man who makes salvation

Plain to men like you and me.

And through all this great republic

‘Twould be mighty hard to find

Your grateful bunch of fellows,

Than his friends, the undersigned.