The night too quickly passes And we are growing old, So let us fill our glasses And toast the Days of Gold; When finds of wondrous treasure

The world is narrow and ways are s… For little is new where the crowds… Greater, or smaller, the same old… And tired of all is the spirit tha… of the days when the world was wid…

Ye children of the Land of Gold, I sing a song to you, And if the jokes are somewhat old, The main idea is new. So be it sung, by hut and tent,

Tall and freckled and sandy, Face of a country lout; This was the picture of Andy, Middleton’s Rouseabout. Type of a coming nation,

The fields are fair in autumn yet,… But we bow our heads and we brood… Or we nod and smile the social whi… But we break our hearts, oh, we br… There’s the old love wronged ere t…

Bill and Jim are mates no longer—… Those two bushmen hate each other… Yet erstwhile they were as brother… Ne’er were mates to one another ha… Bill was one of those who have to…

Down the street as I was drifting… Came a ghost, and for a moment wal… Now my heart was hard and bitter,… So I felt no great aversion to hi… Said the Shade: ‘At finer feelin…

From Woolwich and Brentford and… Oh, the Cockney soul is a silent… But out on the sand with a broken… And, with never a laugh, in a gale… Oh, send them a tune from the musi…

Because he had sinned and suffered… And because of his wonderful sympa… Born and bred of the people, he kn… And because he had struggled throu… Speaker and leader and poet, tall…

Tell a simple little story of a se… Where the soldier birds and farmer… While the sun shines—and they ofte… But it’s all about a young man who… One of Mason’s sons, Jim Mason,…

We hear a great commotion 'Bout the ship that comes to grief… That founders in mid-ocean, Or is driven on a reef; Because it’s cheap and brittle

While tyrants rule the land, Beneath the Irish skies; While e’er the iron hand Upon our people lies; While sons are driven forth

John Cornstalk lives in the South… What says Cornstalk John? Jack Cornstalk says in a loud fir… “Land of the South, lead on.” CHORUS:

On the moonlighted decks there are… While smoothly the steamer is hold… And the old folks are chatting on… And the lads and the lassies go st… Some gaze half-entranced on the be…

If I ever be worthy or famous— Which I’m sadly beginning to doub… When the angel whose place ’tis to… Shall say to my spirit, ‘Pass out… I wish for no sniv’lling about me