"Thank'ee, ma'am," answered up Billy Daddo; "then lev' us make a start with Wrestling Jacob, Part Two—"
'Lame as I am, I take the prey'—
'Lame as I am, I take the prey'—
"'Tis a pleasant old tune and never comes amiss, but for choice o' seasons give me the dew o' the mornin'."
He pitched the note in high falsetto, and after a couple of bars five or six near comrades joined in together—
"Speak to me now, for I am weak,
But confident in self-despair:
Speak to my heart, in blessings speak;
Be conquer'd by my instant prayer!
Speak, or thou never hence shall move,
And tell me if thy name is Love."
"Speak to me now, for I am weak,
But confident in self-despair:
Speak to my heart, in blessings speak;
Be conquer'd by my instant prayer!
Speak, or thou never hence shall move,
And tell me if thy name is Love."
Billy Daddo's gang hailed from a parish, three miles up the coast, noted for containing "but one man that couldn't preach, and that was the parson." Their fellow-labourers—the crew of the barque and half-a-score longshoremen belonging to the port—heard without thought of deriding. Though themselves unconverted—for life in a town, especially in a seaport town, makes men curious and critical rather than intense, and life in a ship ruled by Mrs. Purchase did not encourage visionaries—they were accustomed to the fervours of the redeemed.
"'Tis Love! 'tis Love! thou diedst for me:
I hear thy whisper in my heart—!"
"'Tis Love! 'tis Love! thou diedst for me:
I hear thy whisper in my heart—!"