[92]
]TOO OLD.
It is durned hard lines, when a man grows sere
And his whiskers are flecked with grey,
And he wears the boots that he wore last year
When he worked for a miner’s pay,
To be brushed aside, with a callous word,
By the arms of sturdier men,
As they rush and crush, with a hope deferred,
For the coveted three-pound-ten!
Oh! he sold his strength, and he sold his health,