Who say my hea't ain't true to you?
Dey bettah heish dey mouf.
I knows I loves you thoo an' thoo
Bedtime 's come fu' little boys.
Po' little lamb.
Too tiahed out to make a noise,
Dream days of fond delight and hours
As rosy-hued as dawn, are mine.
Love's drowsy wine,
OH, who would be sad tho' the sky be a-graying,
And meadow and woodlands are empty and bare;
For softly and merrily now there come playing,
'In the fight at Brandywine, Black Samson, a giant negro armed with
a scythe, sweeps his way through the red ranks....' C. M.
I'S a-gittin' weary of de way dat people do,
De folks dat's got dey 'ligion in dey fiahplace an' flue;
My lady love lives far away,
And oh my heart is sad by day,
And ah my tears fall fast by night,
What may I do in such a plight.
Back to the breast of thy mother,
Child of the earth!
E'en her caress can not smother
AN old man planted and dug and tended,
Toiling in joy from dew to dew;
The sun was kind, and the rain befriended;
IF you could sit with me beside the sea to-day,
And whisper with me sweetest dreamings o'er and o'er;