He were nt no saintbut at jedgment Id run my chance with Jim. Longside of some pious gentlemen That would nt shook hands with him. He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing And went for it thar and then; And Christ aint a-going to be too hard On a man that died for men.
Never yet was a springtime, Late though lingered the snow, That the sap stirred not at the whisper Of the southwind, sweet and low; Never yet was a springtime When the buds forgot to blow.