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THE SINGER.
THE SINGER.
N this world, so wide and lonesome,One dear friend have I,—
One whose loving presence cheers me
Under every sky:
Never Cares, nor pain, nor sorrow
Comes when she is nigh;—
Who so blest as I?
She has neither wealth nor station,
Gems nor precious things;
She has only long, fair tresses,
And most glorious wings;
She can neither strive nor labor:
What of that? she sings,—
Wondrously she sings!
Gems nor precious things;
She has only long, fair tresses,
And most glorious wings;
She can neither strive nor labor:
What of that? she sings,—
Wondrously she sings!
Once, as wearily we wandered
Over moor and plain,
Up the hills and down the valleys,
In the sun and rain,
Said I, softly, "Let some other
Hear this marvellous strain,
Else you sing in vain.
Over moor and plain,
Up the hills and down the valleys,
In the sun and rain,
Said I, softly, "Let some other
Hear this marvellous strain,
Else you sing in vain.
