’Twas in a tug-of-war where I—the guvnor’s hope and pride— br Stepped proudly on the platform as the ringer on my side; br Old dad was in his glory there—it gave the old man joy br To fight a passage through the crowd and barrack for his boy. br A friend came up and said to me, ‘Put out your muscles, John, br And pull them to eternity—your guvnor’s looking on.’ br I paused before I grasped the rope, and glanced around the place, br And, foremost in the waiting crowd, I saw the old man’s face. br br My mates were strong and plucky chaps, but very soon I knew br That our opponents had the weight and strength to pull them through; br The boys were losing surely and defeat was very near, br When, high above the mighty roar, I heard the old man cheer! br br I felt my muscles swelling when the old man cheer’d for me, br I felt as though I’d burst my heart, or gain the victory! br I shouted, ‘Now! Together!’ and a steady strain replied, br And, with a mighty heave, I helped to beat the other side! br br Oh! how the old man shouted in his wild, excited joy! br I thought he’d burst his boiler then, a-cheering for his boy; br The chaps, oh! how they cheered me, while the girls all smiled so kind, br They praised me, little dreaming, how the old man pulled behind. br br . . . . . br He barracks for his boy no more—his grave is old and green, br And sons have grown up round me since he vanished from the scene; br But, when the cause is worthy where I fight for victory, br In fancy still I often hear the old man cheer for me.