An’ couldn’t help a-shiv’rin’.
O friend, the year went round—went round—
But this’ll tell you better;
This withered lilock some one found,
An’ sent me in a letter.
Ah, well! there’s more than me that know
How sad is war, an’ fearful,
An’ since the good God plans it so,
I must try to be cheerful;
But when the lilocks air in bloom,