49

     We have worked our claims,
We have spent our gold,
Our barks are astrand on the bars;
We are battered and old,
Yet at night we behold,
Outcroppings of gold in the stars.

Chorus---Tho' battered and old,
           Our hearts are bold,
           Yet oft do we repine;
           For the days of old,
           For the days of gold,
           For the days of forty-nine.

     Where the rabbits play,
Where the quail all day
Pipe on the chaparral hill;
A few more days,
And the last of us lays
His pick aside and all is still.

Chorus--
                We are wreck and stray,
           We are cast away,
           Poor battered old hulks and spars;
           But we hope and pray,
           On the judgment day,
           We shall strike it up in the stars.