(The moon rides on high, and the snow's coming down,)
With shadowy form, and with footfall unsteady;
You'd think 'twas a ghost at the dawn-signal flown.
The ferryman turns on the phantom a glance,
But the eyes of the youngster there glitter and dance,
And with youth like a star in the stern of the wherry
There is but one watchword for Time,—tis "Advance!"
O-hoi-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho-Ho!
O-hoi-ye-ho, Ho-ye-ho! Old is that ferry,
(The moon rides on high, and the snow's drifting down,)