Der world, is vos a fonny blace;
   Yust like a hilly road;
Und mankind he vos like der horse
   Dot pulls a heafy load.
Maybe der hill vos somedimes steep
   Und you vould like to stop;
But nefer mind, some day you find
   Dot you vos at der top,
Und den, I'll tole yer it vos great;
   For I haf come to know
Dot all der hills dot efer vos
   Dey haf dwo sides -- Yust so.

Ven first I see dis golony
   I don't been very rich;
But my affairs dey vork all right
   Midout der shmallest hitch;
Und py-und-py I take a farm
   Up in der nort'ern parts,
Und as der season dey vos good
   I haf der best of starts.
I get some moneys in der Bank;
   Each year my fortunes grow;
Und ve vos live like fightin cogs,
   Dos vos all righd -- Yust so. 

In send my poys and girls to school
   To haf dem somedings taught;
I built a nice new dvelling-hause,
   Und furniture I bought.
Und den dere comes der ploomin' drought,
   Und mid me blazes plays,
Und takes der moneys vot I save
   To meet some rainy days.
I haf no crops upon my land,
   I haf no hay to mow;
Dot vos not nicer to be poor
   As rich.  You tink? -- Yust so.

Den tings dey vos got worse und worse.
   I mortgage me my land;
Und dot pig load I haf to bear
   Vos more as I could stand.
I took my poys away from school
   Und work dem on der farm,
Und still der rain it would not come,
   Und I grow quite alarm,
Suppose I had to leave der blace
   I don't know vere I go;
Dot Bank vos more bolite somedimes
   As he was now -- Yust so.

Und den, 'twas just abut dot time
   Der silfer mines proke oud.
Dey haf some shmelters, vot you call;
   As you haf heard aboud.
Und von fine day a ma he come
   Und tole me, "Mr. Schmidt,
You haf got somedings on your land
   Vot you make profid mit.
Dot iron stone vos good for flux,
   Und vurt a lot, I kow."
I tole him, p'aps I sell me some --
   If I haf time -- Yust so.

Dose quarries now, dey bring me more
   As farming on der land;
I pay me all dot mortgage off,
   Und shake myself my hand.
So, as I tole yer once again;
   Dot life vos like a road
Mit many hills; but don't give up
   Because you haf a load.
Don't loog behind or dry to stop,
   But keep upon der go;
You'll see ven you got to der top
   Dot he goes down -- Yust so.

"C.J.D."
The Evening Journal, 22 July 1899, p4