Master, I've filled my contract, wrought in Thy many lands; Not by my sins wilt Thou judge me, but by the work of my hands. Master, I've done Thy bidding, and the light is low in the west, And the long, long shift is over . . . Master, I've earned it--Rest.
Ay, War, they say, is hell; it's heaven, too. It lets a man discover what he's worth. It takes his measure, shows what he can do, Gives him a joy like nothing else on earth. It fans in him a flame that otherwise Would flicker out, these drab, discordant days; It teaches him in pain and sacrifice Faith, fortitude, grim courage past all praise.
My pipe is out, my glass is dry; My fire is almost ashes too; But once again, before you go, And I prepare to meet the New: Old Year! a parting word that's true, For we've been comrades, you and I--I thank God for each day of you; There! bless you now! Old Year, good-bye!
O dear little cabin, I've loved you so long, And now I must bid you good-bye!
I've filled you with laughter, I've thrilled you with song And sometimes I've wished I could cry. Your walls they have witnessed a weariful fight, And rung to a won Waterloo: But oh, in my triumph I'm dreary to-night--Good-bye, little cabin, to you!
Alas! old man, we're wealthy now, it's sad beyond a doubt; We cannot dodge prosperity, success has found us out.
Your eye is very dull and drear, my
brow is creased with care, We realize how hard it is to be a millionaire.