By J. W. Foley
If we should be shipwrecked together
And only had water for one,
And it was the hottest of weather
Right out in the boiling sun,
He’d tell me—no matter how bad he
Might want it—to take a drink first;
And then he would smile—oh, so glad he
Had saved me!—and perish from thirst!
Or, if we were lost on the prairie
And only had food for a day,
He’d come and would give me the share he
Had wrapped up and hidden away;
And after I ate it with sadness
He’d smile with his very last breath,
And lay himself down full of gladness
To save me—and starve right to death.
And if I was wounded in battle
And out where great danger might be,
He’d come through the roar and the rattle
Of guns and of bullets to me,
He’d carry me out, full of glory,
No matter what trouble he had,
And then he would fall down, all gory
With wounds, and would die—but be glad!
We’re chums—that’s the reason he’d do it;
And that’s what a chum ought to be.
And if it was fire he’d go through it,
If I should call him to me.
You see other fellows may know you,
And friends that you have go and come;
But a boy has one boy he can go to,
For help all the time—that’s his chum.