’Twas in a tug-of-war where I—the guvnor’s hope and pride—Stepped proudly on the platform as the ringer on my side;Old dad was in his glory there—it gave the old man joyTo fight a passage through the crowd and barrack for his boy.
A friend came up and said to me, ‘Put out your muscles, John,And pull them to eternity—your guvnor’s looking on.’I paused before I grasped the rope, and glanced around the place,And, foremost in the waiting crowd, I saw the old man’s face.
My mates were strong and plucky chaps, but very soon I knewThat our opponents had the weight and strength to pull them through;The boys were losing surely and defeat was very near,When, high above the mighty roar, I heard the old man cheer!
I felt my muscles swelling when the old man cheer’d for me,I felt as though I’d burst my heart, or gain the victory!I shouted, ‘Now! Together!’ and a steady strain replied,And, with a mighty heave, I helped to beat the other side!
Oh! how the old man shouted in his wild, excited joy!I thought he’d burst his boiler then, a-cheering for his boy;The chaps, oh! how they cheered me, while the girls all smiled so kind,They praised me, little dreaming, how the old man pulled behind.. . . . . . . . . .He barracks for his boy no more—his grave is old and green,And sons have grown up round me since he vanished from the scene;But, when the cause is worthy where I fight for victory,In fancy still I often hear the old man cheer for me.