Copyright, 1875, by Wm. A. Pond & Co.
Words and Music by J. H. Webb.
I've not come to preach or to sing
Of things, friends, which no man can do;
I'll simply relate what I've heard
As thro' life's rugged path we go through.
There's thousands of people we find
That have ruined both body and soul
In climbing the ladder of life
In search of that monarch, king gold.
Then why do men sigh for those things
That fate ne'er ordained them to hold!
Why not be content with their lot,
And not crave for that monarch, king gold?
If daily our papers we read,
Of the poor bankers' clerks we are told,
Of their prospects being ruined for life
Through the love of the sweet shining gold;
They heed not their mothers or wives
When allured by temptations to steal,
But find out when, in fate, too late
What a felon's disgrace is to feel.-Chorus.
Some of our poor sisters we find,
How easy their virtue is sold!
They heed not their womanly pride
When allured by the sweet shining gold;
The wine-cup they take as their friend,
In hopes sad remorses to save.
Till discarded, dishonored by all,
They then seek an untimely grave.- Chorus.
We should all be content with our lot.
Whether we be peasant or peer,
And not crave, boys, for those things
That oft times drives men to despair;
Just gaze at the poor gambler's life.
Of his sad end we ofttimes are told;
In a workhouse he oft ends his days
Thro' loving the sweet shining gold.-Chorus.