SEA SPRAY &> SMOKE DRIFT 



We tarry yet, we are toiling still, 



He is gone and he fares the best, 

 He fought against odds, he struggled up hill, 



He has fairly earned his season of rest ; 

 No tears are needed — fill out the wine, 



Let the goblets clash, and the grape juice 

 flow ; 

 Ho ! pledge me a death-drink, comrade mine, 



To a brave man gone where we all must go. 



