London lyrics by Frederick Locker Lampson: With introduction and notes by Austin Dobson |
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TO MY OLD FRIEND POSTUMUS
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 | London lyrics |  |
129
TO MY OLD FRIEND POSTUMUS
(J. G.)
And, like yon clocke, when twelve shalle sound
To call our soules away,
Together may our hands be found,
An earnest that we praie.
To call our soules away,
Together may our hands be found,
An earnest that we praie.
My Friend, our few remaining years
Are hasting to an end,
They glide away, and lines are here
That time can never mend;
Thy blameless life avails thee not,—
Alas, my dear old Friend!
Are hasting to an end,
They glide away, and lines are here
That time can never mend;
Thy blameless life avails thee not,—
Alas, my dear old Friend!
Death lifts a burthen from the poor,
And brings the weary rest;
Yon lad was gay, and now he mourns
The lass he loved the best;
But you and I, we still are here,
And still can share the jest!
And brings the weary rest;
Yon lad was gay, and now he mourns
The lass he loved the best;
But you and I, we still are here,
And still can share the jest!
130
O pleasant Earth! This peaceful home!
The darling at my knee!
My own dear wife! Thyself, old Friend!
And must it come to me,
That any face shall fill my place
Unknown to them and thee?
The darling at my knee!
My own dear wife! Thyself, old Friend!
And must it come to me,
That any face shall fill my place
Unknown to them and thee?
All vainly are we fenced about
From peril, day and night;
The awful rapids must be shot
Our shallop will be slight;
O, pray that then we may descry
A cheering beacon-light.
From peril, day and night;
The awful rapids must be shot
Our shallop will be slight;
O, pray that then we may descry
A cheering beacon-light.
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