You have packed up your duffle and put out your fire,
There is nothing ahead but the trail,
But the trail that leads up to the hill you desire —
You will come nevermore to the vale.
'Twas a shelter from storm and a home for the night,
'Twas a place for a fire and a snack;
You are through with it now, you are off with the light —
But you stop and you take a look back.

'Twas a spot for a camp such as seldom you find,
With a slope that would drain it of wet;
There was green grass in front, there was timber behind,
And the deadwood was easy to get.
'Twas a bed and a roof for the wandering one,
'Twas a rest and a refuge for Jack;
Now you're off to the east and you're up with the sun —
But you stop and you take a look back.

And this life is just that from beginning to end:
It's a camp, and a hike, and a camp.
It is greeting a stranger, farewell to a friend,
Ev'ry morning new timber to tramp.
For we can not remain and we can not return,
We must follow old Time in his track;
But the campfires of old in our memory burn —
And we stop and we take a look back.