| FOUR o’clock this afternoon, | |
| Fifteen hundred miles away: | |
| So it goes, the crazy tune, | |
| So it pounds and hums all day | |
| |
| Four o’clock this afternoon, | 5 |
| Earth will hide them far away: | |
| Best they go to go so soon, | |
| Best for them the grave to-day. | |
| |
| Had she gone but half so soon, | |
| Half the world had passed away. | 10 |
| Four o’clock this afternoon, | |
| Best for them they go to-day. | |
| |
| Four o’clock this afternoon | |
| Love will hide them deep, they say; | |
| Love that made the grave so soon, | 15 |
| Fifteen hundred miles away. | |
| |
| Four o’clock this afternoon— | |
| Ah, but they go slow to-day: | |
| Slow to suit my crazy tune, | |
| Past the need of all we say. | 20 |
| |
| Best it came to come so soon, | |
| Best for them they go to-day: | |
| Four o’clock this afternoon, | |
| Fifteen hundred miles away. | |
