They come not from the sunny, sunny south,
Nor from the Arctic region,
Nor from the east, the busy, busy east,
The where man's name is legion;
But they come from the west, the rugged, rugged west,
From the world's remotest edges;
And their pockets they are filled with the yellow, yellow gold
That they mined in the mountain ledges.
CHORUS—
Then, hey, lads, hey, for the mining man so bold,
Who comes from the world's far edges!
And hey for the gold, the yellow, yellow gold,
That is stored in the mountain ledges!
They basked not, they, in balmy tropic shade,
'Neath orange tree and banyan;
But braved the bush, the torrent and the steep,
By gorge and gulch and canyon.
They would not be held back in cities over desks,
Or among the homestead hedges;
So their pockets now are filled with the yellow, yellow gold
That they mined in the mountain ledges.
They left their homes, their loved ones all behind,
Forsook kind friend and neighbor,
And went to seek the thing of greatest worth,
For gold, rare gold, to labor.
Oh! they bled the old earth—they opened up her veins
With their picks and drills and sledges;
And their pockets now are filled with the yellow, yellow gold
That they mined in the mountain ledges.