"Well, by rail and boat and saddle we got out here at last, A-livin' in the future, and forgettin' of the past; We built ourselves a little home, and in our work and care It seemed to me she always took what was the lion's share; God knows just what she suffered, but she hid it with a smile, And made out that she thought I was the only thing worth while.
"She stood it through the summer and the warm, brown days of fall, And of all the voices calling her she would not hear the call; But when the winter settled with its cold, white pall of snow She seemed to whiten with it, but she thought I didn't know; She tried to keep her spirits up and laugh my fears away, But I saw her growing thin and ever weaker day by day.
"At last I couldn't stand it any longer, so I said, 'I think you'd better try and spend a day or two in bed While I go for a doctor. It's only sixty miles.' She gave a little wistful look, half hidden in her smiles, And said, 'Perhaps you'd better, though I think I'll be all right When the spring comes.' . . . Well, I started out that night.
"I made the trip on horseback, by the guiding Polar star And a dozen times the distance never seemed one half so far. But the doctor had gone out of town,--just where, no one could say, And a lump rose in my chest that fairly took my breath away. But I daren't stay there thinking, and my search for him was vain, So I bought some wine and brandy and I started home again.
"Forgetful of my horse, I spent the whole night on the road, Till early in the morning he collapsed beneath his load; I saw the brute was done for, and although it made me cry, I hacked into his jug'lar vein and left him there to die; And then I shouldered the supplies and staggered on alone, And thinking of my wife's distress I quite forgot my own.
"She must ha' watched all night for me, for in the morning grey She saw me stagger in the snow and fall beside the way And God knows how she did it--she was only skin and bone-- But she came out here and found me and dragged me home alone, And she took the precious liquor that had cost us all so dear, And poured it down this worthless hulk that's standin' blatin' here. . . .
"I guess you know what happened--I lived, she passed away; I robed her in her wedding-dress and laid her in the clay; And every spring I plant the flowers that grow upon her grave, For I hold the spot as sacred as the Arimathæn's cave; And when the winter snows have come, and all is white and still, I spread a blanket on the mound to keep out frost and chill.