Page:A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (3rd ed.).djvu/144



of my bosom! my soul's dearest treasure,
 * Star of my dwelling-place, listen to me;

Know that when absent, my only true pleasure
 * Is thinking, dear Mary, of home and of thee!

And when in his fury the Storm King was riding
 * The wild waves that foamed as he hurried them on,

And the thunder, awoke in his anger, was chiding
 * And all light, save the vivid forked lightning, was gone.

When Despair laid his hand on the heart of the boldest,
 * Stem Misery whispered her tale in each ear;

When Hope scarcely spoke, and in tones of the coldest,
 * And each one on board was the vassal of fear.

I had, in that hour of dark peril, a feeling.
 * Which never forsakes me, where'er I may be,

The glow of affection around my heart stealing,
 * Fondly telling, dear Mary, of home and of thee.

.—Here lieth the body of one, who for many years waged an unequal contest with the wine cup, until Nature—his best friend and backer—seeing he only stood up to be punished, without a chance to win, kindly threw up the sponge.