RED-JACKET
Where it's eighty below zero, there you'll find the Northland hero,
Red-Jacket; bully Boy he is—sure thing he fills the bill!
In that trackless waste of snow, where the Northern Lights hang low,
He is doing deeds of daring that would make your pulses thrill:—
An' we'll drink t' You, Red-Jacket;
The equator of your vest
Bunches all the pride an' glory
Of th' wild an' woolly West!
Red-Jacket does no askin', but he's ready for th' taskin'
When they sling him out his orders, with a hunk o' pemmican;
An' he'll travel day an' night after Red-man or bad white,
An' he'll go through hell-an'-blazes, but he'll never miss his man!
He laughs at death an' danger,
For th' chin-strap on his jaw
Is th' link that binds Creation:—
British fair-play, an' th'—LAW!
The spur hitched to his heel—at his hip th' gleam of steel,—
With his belly-band strapped tighter his hunger to forget,
He may drop upon th' track but you bet he won't turn back—
For it's duty, Duty, DUTY! That's Red-Jacket's am-u-let!
An' it's "Hi! you skulkin' husky"!
O'er th' wintry, wind-swept ground,
The dog his lone companion—
And the Silence that is Sound!
Oh, the Arctic wilds are weary, and the Arctic nights are dreary;
And Red-Jacket sometimes wonders why he's livin' th' wild life?
Then he eyes th' British Flag; says: "God bless YOU, you old Rag!
It's through courtin' you I've neither child nor wife"!
Then a shamed an' silent tear
Falls upon the Arctic snows;
An' the anguish of his heart,
God—an' Red-Jacket, knows!
Now, you folks, don't get hard thinkin' when Red-Jacket starts a-drinkin',
An' he busts th' Ten Commandments into five-an'-twenty bits;
When he hears th' bugles sound, ain't he fu'st upon th' ground?
An' don't his "powders" cure 'em of the'r hell-damnation fits?
So we'll drink t' YOU, Red-Jacket!
God's blessin' on y'r head;
You're th' British Con-sti-too-shun
Bound in yella' stripes, an' Red!