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His brow is wet with honest sweat,
Week in, week out, from morn to night,
And children coming home from school
They love to see the flaming forge,
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice
He needs must think of her once more
And with his hard rough hand he wipes
Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Each burning deed and thought!
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
A CHIEFTAIN to the highlands bound,
And I'll give thee a silver pound
"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" "Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle And this, Lord Ullin's daughter :
"And fast before her father's men,
Three days we've fled together; For should he find us in the glen,
My blood will stain the heather :-
"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Out spake the highland wight,
"I'll go, my chief—I'm ready ; It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady!
"And by my word, the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry ;
So, though the waves are raging white,
But still as wilder blew the wind,
Their trampling sounded nearer!
"Oh! haste thee, haste!" the lady cries;
The boat has left a stormy land,
When, oh! too strong for human hand,
And still they rowed amidst the roar
His wrath was changed to wailing.
For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,
One lovely arm was stretched for aid,
"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water;
And I'll forgive your highland chief,
'Twas vain! the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing :
The waters wild went o'er his child,
CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS
TORCHES were blazing clear,
Where a king lay stately on his bier