Page:A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (3rd ed.).djvu/39



Fond memory clings to simple things, when greater are forgot; And oft in fancy I return, to that dear happy spot— Where 'neath a mother's gentle care (now mouldering in her grave), I spent the happiest hours I've known, in the garden that she gave.

From murky clouds, fast hurtling round, Bursts the loud thunder's deafening sound; Quick follows each electric flash, Boar after roar, crash after crash! While torrent-like the rain doth pour. "Who comes in such a fearful hour? 'Tis poor old Martha's withered form Thus braves the fury of the storm. With hurried and unequal tread; Uncovered, too, that aged head. What can have happen'd! What's amiss To bring her through a storm like this? Run, Harry, to the door, and see What the poor creature's troubles be!" Thus said the father to the son. The boy with willing haste hath run,