O the Gold Road is a hard road,
And it leads beyond the sea,--
Some follow it through the altar gates
And some to the gallows tree.
And they who squander the gold they earn
On kin-folk ill to please
Go soon to the grave, but he toils in the grave--
The miner upon his knees.
The Gold Road is a dark road--
No bird by the wayside sings,
No sun shines into the cañons deep,
No children's laughter rings.
They are slaves who delve in the stubborn rocks
For the pittance their labor brings.
Their bread is bitter who toil for their own,
But they starve who toil for Kings.
The Gold Road is a small road,--
A man must tread it alone,
With none to help if he faint or fall,
And none to hear his groan.
The weight of gold is a weary weight
When we toil for the sake of our own--
But our masters are branding our hearts and souls
With a Christ that is carved in stone!