Come all of you, my brother scouts, And listen to my song; Come, let us sing together Though the shadows fall so long.
Of all the old frontiersmen That used to scour the plain There are but very few of them That with us yet remain.
Day after day they're dropping off, They're going one by one; Our clan is fast decreasing, Our race is almost run.
There are many of our number That never wore the blue, But faithfully they did their part As brave men, tried and true.
They never joined the army, But had other work to do In piloting the coming folks, To help them safely through.
But brothers, we are failing, Our race is almost run; The days of elk and buffalo And beaver traps are gone--
Oh, the days of elk and buffalo! It fills my heart with pain To know these days are past and gone To never come again.
We fought the red-skin rascals Over valley, hill, and plain; We fought him in the mountain top, We fought him down again.
These fighting days are over. The Indian yell resounds No more along the border; Peace sends far sweeter sounds.
But we found great joy, old comrades, To hear and make it die; We won bright homes for gentle ones, And now, our West, good-bye.