If your luck is out with women; if you’ve looked too long on wine,
Do not sit and nurse the anger of your anguish, brother mine,
For the sun will rise to-morrow, and the skies be just as blue,
And you’ll find that other fellows have their troubles — same as you.
There’s a gun for you to carry; there’s an oar for you to pull;
There’s a saddle and a stockwhip, and the earth is bountiful;
There’s a corner for you somewhere; there’s another girl to woo;
And you’ll meet a mate out yonder, who has suffered, same as you.
Though your aching heart be empty, and your pockets much the same,
Though the dice of Fate ARE loaded, be a man and play the game!
There is something left to live for — to your own strong soul be true.
And we’ll take your hand and grip it, who have battled, same as you.
You may never back the winner, you may never win the maid;
You may never find a nugget, make a fortune out of trade;
But you’ll always find your manhood, if you keep the fact in view,
That some other chaps are trying to be honest — same as you.
When they come to add up figures, and to total you and me,
When the Game of Life is over, and all things as nothing be,
It may chance — who knoweth brother — that the old beliefs were true?
And His voice across the Shadow, shall re-echo through and through —
“Peace be with ye, Sons of Sorrow! I have suffered — same as you!”
This poem by E J Brady was published in The Earthen Floor (1902).
