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THE SAILOR-BOY'S GOOD-BY. |
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THE SAILOR-BOY'S GOOD-BY. Air—" Woodman, spare that Tree."
My mother dear, I go
Far o'er the distant sea— But let me gladly know
A blessing fond from thee. The fate that makes us poor,
Calls forth the parting sigh, And drives me from thy door—
My mother dear, good-by !
And when in distant lands
I make my exiled prayer, And raise my folded hands
To Him who'll guide me there— I'll crave for thee each joy,
And He will hear my cry; Then, smiling, .kiss thy boy—
My mother dear, good-by 1
This poor but pretty cot,
On which the sunset gleama, Will ne'er be once forgot—
'Twill mingle in my dreams. And when from distant cliniea
Thy truant boy comes nigh, We'll share the happy times—
My mother dear, good-by !
The thoughts of thy dear form,
Thy cherished voice so kind. Will cheer me in the storm,
Amid the howling wind. I dare not now remain;
But quick the time will fly, When we shall meet again—
My mother doar, good-by I |
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