Dedicated to George T. Nicholson
Third Vice President A. T. & S.F. Ry. System
"On the Road Called Santa Fe" (1907)
Words by E. C. Potter
Music by Charles T. Atkinson

[Source: 058/107@Levy]

1. 
There's a road that’s running westward from the Great Lakes to the Sea, 
And the wonders of its Country will appeal to you and me, 
As it stretches from Chicago clear to San Francisco Bay; 
And the Spaniards of New Mexico have named it Santa Fe. 

CHORUS 1
On the Road called Santa Fe, You may travel many a day, 
And the pleasures of the journey many times the cost repay, 
On the Road called Santa Fe, Where the sunshines ev’ ry day,
As it stretches from Chicago clear to ’Frisco ’cross the Bay.

2. 
Over miles of painted desert, Over lofty mountain crest, 
To the land of golden promise, on the limit of the West; 
Thro’ the Cotton fields of Texas and the fertile Kansas plain, 
Such a journey makes you certain life has not been lived in vain. 

CHORUS 2
On the Road called Santa Fe, You will find “the Only Way,” 
Spite of what the advertisements of all other Roads may say.
On the Road called Santa Fe, Where the sunshines ev’ ry day,
As it stretches from Chicago clear to ’Frisco ’cross the Bay.

3. 
To the City of the Angels, To fair Catalina’s Isle; 
To Pasadena’s gardens, where all Nature wears a smile; 
To the groves of Bernardino, e’en to Coranado’s beach, 
Where the surf of old Pacific utters forth its thund’rous speech. 

CHORUS 3
From the margin of the tide, To the lofty mountain side, 
To these points, and many oth ers, by the “KiteShapedTrack” you ride.
On the Road called Santa Fe, Where the sunshines ev’ ry day,
As it stretches from Chicago clear to ’Frisco ’cross the Bay.

4. 
Where the Mission bells are ringing, With their sweet and silv’ry chime, 
As they tell us of a romance of a long forgotten time; 
Where the Colorado Canyon wierd and mystic stands revealed, 
With it’s restless, rushing river in its sunless depths concealed. 

CHORUS 4
You may see this frozen hell, You may hear the mission bell, 
And the story of the olden time it’s Music seems to tell. 
On the Road called Santa Fe, Where the sunshines ev’ ry day,
As it stretches from Chicago clear to ’Frisco ’cross the Bay.