James Ephraim McGirt

I'll not attempt the task
Of the Iliad to relate;
But I will tell of Hector
And how he met his fate.
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God bless our home, land of the free,
And those who rule, who e'er they be;
Protect the flag, and let it wave
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Think not, my friend, if right be crushed today,
That violent wrong will ever hold the day;
A noble cause aside the kings may toast,
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Two spirits are warring in my breast,
Each for the sway;
And each of me has made request—
Which to obey?
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What a balm for the mind the joyous spring,
What fragrant nectar its breezes bring;
How the babbling brook and the birds we hear,
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God bless the sailors brave to-night
Upon the surging sea,
Who're fighting hard against the storm,
Protecting you and me.
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I shall succeed, although Fate rules to-day,
And heaps up thorns and thistles in my way.
I bear the yoke and tread them with a smile,
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Daily we drop in the treasure,
But it never reaches its height;
And when we search for the reason,
We find it Saturday night.
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If love could see each other's heart,
And read the truth which they impart;
Much doubt and fears it would relieve,
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If wishing were getting,
Ah! wouldn't it be fine?
If loving were wooing,
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Of'en w'en de race I'm runnin',
Chil' my feet gits blistered so'
Dat I hav' a notion fallin'
'Pears I jus' can' run no mo
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Life is a boundless sea, on which men float;
Succeed we may to ride the waves of Fate,
Yet still within our paths there surely lies,
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With joy I plod life's weary road;
Sometimes I'm free, then with a load;
The cares I gather through the day,
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So oft I've read what poets sang of love,
To feel their joy far years in vain I sought;
At last love came, a cooing little dove;
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I'll ne'er forget the day,
When I was young and gay,
A rolling 'round the floor in Tennessee;
From th' cotton field so white,
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Around the glowing fireside of the nation
A vacant chair no one can ever fill;
Death came, and stole from it a temperance mother,
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Among the dear old friends we people cherish
Within the highest portals of our hearts,
The name that sounds as dear as dear old mother's
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When bygone days come rushing to my memory,
Those happy days I spent when but a boy,
It brings to me a picture tinged with sadness;
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Dear father Browne, the great, the good,
The noble leader of our race;
With task complete his spirit fled
To he'ven its final resting place.
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My dear old home's not like it used to be,
Since my dear old mother died;
Sunshine from it has passed away,
The old cot seems so lonely,
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