It has come with its voice where the lamps glittered bright on a mob thet was drunk with desire.
Fer I know not the hour thet the visitor brings—in the night, in the day, it is near;
It has come when no step stirred the stillness of things, it has come when a hundred were here.
An’ it knows all the past, ev’ry step of the road I have traveled the years thet are gone;
In the Springtime of youth it was there when I sowed in the fields thet was yellow with dawn.
It has followed my trail in the woods an’ the town, it has stood by my side at the bar,
It has followed my trail either uphill or down, an’ has judged of my deeds as they are.
So it stood by my side in that old-time affair when the night turned to red in my eyes,
An’ it knows jest how much of my story was square an’ it knows jest how much of it lies,
Fer it saw the blow fall, an’ it saw the steel shine, an’ it saw the thing leap to its goal—