I only woke this morning
To find the world is fair-
I-m going on for forty,
With scarcely one grey hair;
I-m going on for forty,
Where man-s strong life begins,
With scarce a sign of crows- feet,
In spite of all my sins.

Then here-s the living Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here-s the living Forties!
We-re good for ten years more.

The teens were black and bitter,
A smothered boyhood-s grave-
A farm-drudge in the drought-time,
A weary workshop slave.
But twenty years have laid them,
And all the world is fair-
We-ll find time in the Forties,
To have some boyhood there.

Then here-s the wide, free Forties-
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here-s the wide, free Forties!
We-re good for ten years more!

The twenties they were noble,
The bravest years, I think;
-Twas man to man in trouble,
In working and in drink;
-Twas man to man in fighting,
For money or for praise.
And we-ll find in the Forties
Some more Bohemian days.

Then here-s the wiser Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here-s the wiser Forties!
We-re good for ten years more.

The thirties were the fate years;
I fought behind the scenes.
The thirties were more cruel
And blacker than the teens;
I held them not but bore them-
They were no years of mine;
But they are going from me,
For I am thirty-nine.

So here-s the stronger Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
And here-s the good old Forties!
We-re good for ten years more.