The Old Brown Cot.Among the scenes to memory dear,To which my fancy oft returns,And for those long-lost days of joyMy spirit in its sadness dreams.There’s none which seems so dear to meAs that where past life’s early morn;There’s none for which I sigh so oft,As for the cot where I was born.CHORUS.The old brown cot, the low brown cot,The moss-grown cot beneath the hill;Though years have pass’d since I was there,I love it, oh, I love it still.It stood beside the running brookWhose waters turn’d the noisy mill;And close beside the tall old oaksThat nodded on the sloping hill.The woodbine creeping o’er the walls,The sunshine on the grassy plot,How beautiful were they to me,When home was in that old brown cot!The old brown cot, &c.Though I may view the fairest landOn which the sun in glory beams,And dwell in climes more beautifulThan poets visit in their dreams,Still will affection linger roundThat loved and consecrated spot,And tears will fall as I go backTo boyhood and the old brown cot.The old brown cot, &c.
Among the scenes to memory dear,To which my fancy oft returns,And for those long-lost days of joyMy spirit in its sadness dreams.There’s none which seems so dear to meAs that where past life’s early morn;There’s none for which I sigh so oft,As for the cot where I was born.CHORUS.The old brown cot, the low brown cot,The moss-grown cot beneath the hill;Though years have pass’d since I was there,I love it, oh, I love it still.It stood beside the running brookWhose waters turn’d the noisy mill;And close beside the tall old oaksThat nodded on the sloping hill.The woodbine creeping o’er the walls,The sunshine on the grassy plot,How beautiful were they to me,When home was in that old brown cot!The old brown cot, &c.Though I may view the fairest landOn which the sun in glory beams,And dwell in climes more beautifulThan poets visit in their dreams,Still will affection linger roundThat loved and consecrated spot,And tears will fall as I go backTo boyhood and the old brown cot.The old brown cot, &c.
Among the scenes to memory dear,To which my fancy oft returns,And for those long-lost days of joyMy spirit in its sadness dreams.There’s none which seems so dear to meAs that where past life’s early morn;There’s none for which I sigh so oft,As for the cot where I was born.CHORUS.The old brown cot, the low brown cot,The moss-grown cot beneath the hill;Though years have pass’d since I was there,I love it, oh, I love it still.It stood beside the running brookWhose waters turn’d the noisy mill;And close beside the tall old oaksThat nodded on the sloping hill.The woodbine creeping o’er the walls,The sunshine on the grassy plot,How beautiful were they to me,When home was in that old brown cot!The old brown cot, &c.Though I may view the fairest landOn which the sun in glory beams,And dwell in climes more beautifulThan poets visit in their dreams,Still will affection linger roundThat loved and consecrated spot,And tears will fall as I go backTo boyhood and the old brown cot.The old brown cot, &c.
Among the scenes to memory dear,To which my fancy oft returns,And for those long-lost days of joyMy spirit in its sadness dreams.There’s none which seems so dear to meAs that where past life’s early morn;There’s none for which I sigh so oft,As for the cot where I was born.
Among the scenes to memory dear,
To which my fancy oft returns,
And for those long-lost days of joy
My spirit in its sadness dreams.
There’s none which seems so dear to me
As that where past life’s early morn;
There’s none for which I sigh so oft,
As for the cot where I was born.
CHORUS.
The old brown cot, the low brown cot,The moss-grown cot beneath the hill;Though years have pass’d since I was there,I love it, oh, I love it still.
The old brown cot, the low brown cot,
The moss-grown cot beneath the hill;
Though years have pass’d since I was there,
I love it, oh, I love it still.
It stood beside the running brookWhose waters turn’d the noisy mill;And close beside the tall old oaksThat nodded on the sloping hill.The woodbine creeping o’er the walls,The sunshine on the grassy plot,How beautiful were they to me,When home was in that old brown cot!The old brown cot, &c.
It stood beside the running brook
Whose waters turn’d the noisy mill;
And close beside the tall old oaks
That nodded on the sloping hill.
The woodbine creeping o’er the walls,
The sunshine on the grassy plot,
How beautiful were they to me,
When home was in that old brown cot!
The old brown cot, &c.
Though I may view the fairest landOn which the sun in glory beams,And dwell in climes more beautifulThan poets visit in their dreams,Still will affection linger roundThat loved and consecrated spot,And tears will fall as I go backTo boyhood and the old brown cot.The old brown cot, &c.
Though I may view the fairest land
On which the sun in glory beams,
And dwell in climes more beautiful
Than poets visit in their dreams,
Still will affection linger round
That loved and consecrated spot,
And tears will fall as I go back
To boyhood and the old brown cot.
The old brown cot, &c.