Golden Days

Oh, the rough old tough old mining days -
   The golden days of old -
When the fields were rushed and champagne gushed,
   And they shod their nags with gold;
When they proved a claim and sold the same,
   And went on a wild rampage,
In the mad old bad old sad old days
   We call the golden age.

They lit their pipes with five pound notes,
   And deemed the folly find;
They "did their brass" on "hairy goats;"
   They filled their hats with wine;
They broadcast "slugs" with gestures grand -
   But, after boast and boom,
Came for the digger, and his land,
   The headache and the gloom.

Then grant we may not seek again
   To ape old folly's ways,
Nor reap again the field of pain
   They sowed in "golden days,"
But, neither with a niggard's grasp
   Nor yet a spendthrift's hand,
So use our gold that we may hold
   The honor of our land.