TIRED OUT.
He does well who does his best ; Is he weary ? let him rest. Brothers! I have done my best, I am weary—let me rest. Affer toiling oft in vain. Baffled, yet to struggle fain ; After toiling loDg to gain. Little good with mickle pain, Let me rest. But lay me low, Where the hedgeside roses blow; Where the little daisies grow. Where the winds a-mayiog go ; Where the footpath rustics plod, Where the breeze-bowed poplars nod ; Where the old woods worship G-od, Where n is pencil paints the sod ; *Vbere the wedded throstle sing, Where the young bird tries its wingi; Where the wailing plover swings, Near the runlet'a rushing springs! Where, at times, the tempests roar, Shaking distant sea and shore. Still Will rave old Barnesdale o'er, To 6e heard by me no more; There beneath the breezy west, Tired"anil thankful, let me rest, Like a child that sleepeth best On its mother's gentle breast.
— Anonymous.
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Thames Star, Volume XII, Issue 3802, 5 March 1881, Page 1
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159TIRED OUT. Thames Star, Volume XII, Issue 3802, 5 March 1881, Page 1
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