There was a man that delved in the earth
For glittering gems and gold,
And whatever lay hidden that seemed of worth
He carefully seized and sold;
So his days were long and his store was great,
And ever for more he sighed,
'Till kings bowed down and he ruled in state—
And after awhile he died.
Oh, blithesome and shrill the wails resound!
Oh, gaily his children moan!
And the end of it all was a hole in the ground
And a scratch on a crumbling stone.
There was a man that fought for the right,
And never a friend had he,
'Till after the dark there dawned the light
And the world could know and see;
Oh, long was the fight and comfortless,
But great was the fighter's pride,
And a victor he rose from the storm and stress—
And after awhile he died.
Oh, great was the fame but newly found
Of the man that fought alone!
And the end of it all was a hole in the ground
And a scratch on a crumbling stone.
There was a man that dreamed a dream,
And his pen it served his brain;
And great was his art and great his theme
And long was his laurelled reign;
But after awhile the world forgot
And his work was pushed aside,
(For to serve and wait is the mortal lot)
And then, in the end, he died.
Oh! brown on his brow were the bays that bound
And far was his glory flown!
And the end of it all was a hole in the ground
And a scratch on a crumbling stone.