Matt Crowe
I met him first in distant Perth This tall and robust man— I’ve often seen him prove his worth As only brave men can.
His height was fully six feet six; A mighty breadth of chest — T’was tough on others should he mix A tumble with the best.
For years Old Matt I had not seen Till came his Yodda strike; He made it after he had been To Yukon and Klondike, Looking gray and gaunt and old, And bent and slightly lame — It seemed the bitter Yukon cold Had shrunk that mighty frame.
But still his heart was good and sound And hopeful as of old.
He and mates soon battled round And found the Yodda gold.
Grim danger he would never shirk His quick hand on a gun.
A lot of pioneering work This tall gray man has done.
Few people understood Old Matt They feared his caustic wit; But I had soon discovered that A straight man, full of grit.
Few as good as he are found And I should surely know — For many years I battled round As mates with long Matt Crowe.
Now old Matt has passed away: No more he’ll take the track; There’s many left who wish that they Could only call him back.
We follow on quite blindly But we know we have to go: May they think of us as kindly As we think of long Matt Crowe.