Some youngsters were panting for fashions, Some new kick seemed now all the go, But having no turbulent passions, My motto was "Rosin the Bow."
So kindly my parents besought me, No longer a roving to go, And friends whom I thought had forgot me, With gladness met Rosin the Bow.
My young day I spent all in roving, But never was vicious, no, no; But somehow I loved to keep moving, And cheerfully Rosin'd the Bow.
In country or city, no matter, Too often I never could go, My presence all sadness would scatter, So cheerful was Rosin the Bow.
The old people always grew merry, Young faces with pleasure did glow, While lips with the red of cherry, Sipped "bliss to old Rosin the Bow."
While sweetly I played on my viol, In measures so soft and so slow, Old Time stopped the shade on the dial, To listen to Rosin the Bow.
And thou my sweet prime I've been spending, When friendship made glasses ere now, No pang of remorse is now rending, The bosom of Rosin the Bow.
And peacefully now I am sinking, From all this sweet world can bestow, But Heaven's kind mercy I'm thinking, Provides for old Rosin the Bow.
Now soon some still Sunday morning, The first thing the neighbors will know, Their ears will be met with the warning, To bury old Rosin the Bow.
My friends will then so neatly dress me, In linen as white as the snow, And in my new coffin they'll press me, And whisper "poor Rosin the Bow."
Then lone with my head on the pillow, In peace I'll be sleeping below, The grass and the breeze shaken willow, That waves over Rosin the Bow.
