Oh , the sweet contentment
The countryman doth find.
— High trolollie lollie loe,
— High trolollie lee,
That quiet contemplation
Possesseth all my mind:
— Then care away,
— And wend along with me.

For courts are full of flattery,
As hath too oft been tried;
— High trolollie lollie loe,
— High trolollie lee,
The city full of wantonness,
And both are full of pride:

But oh, the honest countryman
Speaks truly from his heart,
— High trolollie lollie loe,
— High trolollie lee,
His pride is in his tillage,

Oh, the sun sets red, the moon shines white,
And blue is Fayal's clear sky;
The sun and moon and sky are bright,
And the sea, and stars on high;
But the name of Reid and the fame of Reid
And the flag of his ship and crew
Are brighter far than sea or star
Or the heavens' red, white, and blue:
So lift your voices once again
For the land we love so dear,
For the fighting Captain and the men

Oh, the slimy, squirmy, slithery eel!
He swallows your hook with malignant zeal,
He tangles your line and he gums your reel,
The slimy, squirmy, slithery eel.

Oh, the slimy, squirmy, slithery eel!
He cannot be held in a grip of steel,
And when he is dead he is hard to peel,
The slimy, squirmy, slithery eel.

Oh, the slimy, squirmy, slithery eel!
The sorriest catch in the angler's creel;
Who said he was fit for a Christian meal —
The slimy, squirmy, slithery eel!

Oh, the slimy, squirmy, slithery eel!

Oh, the sad day!
When friends shall shake their heads, and say
Of miserable me —
" Hark, how he groans, look how he pants for breath,
See how he struggles with the pangs of death!"
— — When they shall say of these poor eyes —
— — " How hollow and how dim they be!
— — Mark how his breast does swell and rise
— — Against his potent enemy!"
When some old friend shall step to my bedside,
Touch my chill face, and then shall gently slide,
— — And — when his next companions say
" How does he do? What hopes?" — shall turn away,

Oh, the revenue men is riding
Boy you'd better look out
(Oh sho' that man's coming again)
Oh, the revenue men is riding
Boy you'd better look out
(Boy if he calls you you don't stop boy I'll)
If he hollers, you don't stop, you will
Likely be knocked out

Well I don't love salt water well she
Always wants a drink
(Got to have a drink)
I don't love salt water
She always wants a drink
(Boy if they see you with a bottle though)
If they see you with a bottle, they will
Almost break the neck

Well, safe sweet home to

1. Oh! the
night that I struck New York, I went out for a
Better by far that I took Broadway; But I was
out to enjoy the sights, There was the Bow'ry a
blaze with lights; I had one of the devil's own
nights! I'll never go there any more!
quiet walk; Folks who are " on to " the city say,
2. I had
walk'd but a block or two, When up came a fellow and
me he knew; Then a policeman came walking by,
Chased him away, and I ask'd him why? " Wasn't he
pulling your leg, " said he; Said I " He never laid

Oh, the lives of men, lives of men;
In pattern-molds be run;
But there's you, and me, and Bindlestiff —
And remember Mary's Son.

At dawn the hedges and the wheel-ruts ran
Into a brightening sky. The grass bent low
With shimmering dew, and many a late wild rose
Unrolled the petals from its odorous heart
While birds held tuneful gossip. Suddenly,
Each bubbling trill and whistle hid away
As from a hawk; the fragrant silence heard
Only the loving stir of little leaves;
Then a man's baritone broke roughly in:

Oh, the joy of looking forward
To the day when Christ shall come,
To the glorious resurrection
Of the saints who've " overcome. "

To the raptures of the Rapture,
Going up to be with Him
Through the ages of the ages
His sweet face will ne'er grow dim.

Yes, the world may scatter pleasures
That would thrill a human heart,
But the joy of seeing Jesus
Has no earthly counterpart.

It may take a little waiting
Till God's time is truly right,
But to know that He is coming
Fills the soul with pure delight.

Oh, the hearts of men, they are rovers, all!
And men will go down to the sea in ships,
And they stop when they hear the sirens call,
And lean to the lure of their red, wet lips!
But never a Circe has snared one yet,
In a green, cool cavern beside the sea,
Who could make the heart of him quite forget
A patiently waiting Penelope!
Yet — there's never a roving one returns
But will sit him down in his easy chair,
While Penelope sews and the fire burns,
And into the depths of it stare . . . and stare .
The fire burns and Penelope sews . . .

Oh , the gold hills of Ireland
The gorse blossoms on
Are all gray with heartbreak
Since Michael is gone.

The blue hills of Scotland
Where heather blows gay
Are weary with crying,
For Colin's away.

And who sees, in England,
The daffodils dance?
...
Oh, Laddie — oh, Laddie,
Those red fields of France!