 | English melodies |  |
177
LONELINESS.
Oh! what shall I do till my William come home?
The time is so dreary, the house is so lone,
There is no one to meet me—there's no one to speak—
And I look at his chair with the tears on my cheek;
He's away with his messmates to sail the salt foam:
Oh! what shall I do till my William come home?
The time is so dreary, the house is so lone,
There is no one to meet me—there's no one to speak—
And I look at his chair with the tears on my cheek;
He's away with his messmates to sail the salt foam:
Oh! what shall I do till my William come home?
We know not, until we are parted, how dear
Is the face we meet daily—the friend ever near;
The heart, though it prizes, thinks less of its prize;
We value not fortune—till fortune denies!
Oh, would he were with me, no longer to roam—
What—what shall I do till my William come home?
Is the face we meet daily—the friend ever near;
The heart, though it prizes, thinks less of its prize;
We value not fortune—till fortune denies!
Oh, would he were with me, no longer to roam—
What—what shall I do till my William come home?
'Tis weak to complain when we cannot recall—
And though ocean is wide, there is God over all!
So I count the long day, and exclaim when 'tis o'er,
There is one less to think of—there's one hope the more;
And tho' stormy the path o'er the desolate foam,
My prayers may yet bring him safe back to his home.
And though ocean is wide, there is God over all!
178
There is one less to think of—there's one hope the more;
And tho' stormy the path o'er the desolate foam,
My prayers may yet bring him safe back to his home.
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