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!
UP AGAINST IT
When y're up against it, don't get feelin' blue;
Somewher' in this world of ours ther's a place f'r you.
Y'r jes' a round peg in a squar', y' ain't th' proper fit;
Keep turnin', twistin' every way—an' rise a little bit.