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THE OLD SCOUT'S LAMENT:
C OME all of you, my brother scouts, And join me in my song; Come, let us sing together Though the shadows fall so long.
Of all the old frontiersmen That used to scour the plain, There are but very few of them That with us yet remain.
Day after day they're dropping off, They're going one by one; Our clan is fast decreasing, Our race is almost run.
There were many of our number That never wore the blue, But, faithfully, they did their part, As brave men, tried and true.
They never joined the army, But had other work to do In piloting the coming folks, To help them safely through.
But, brothers, we are falling, Our race is almost run; 117