Some with a miser's golden hoard;

Some with a book of dates;

Some with a box of paints; a few

Whose loads of truth would ne'er pass through

The first, white, fairy gates;

And, oh, how shocked they are to find

That truths are false when left behind!

Do you remember all the tales

That Tusitala told,

When first we plunged thro' purple vales

In quest of buried gold?

Do you remember how he said

That if we fell and hurt our head

Our hearts must still be bold,

And we must never mind the pain

But rise up and go on again?

Do you remember? Yes; I know

You must remember still:

He left us, not so long ago,

Carolling with a will,

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