My weary heart was every day a-cryin’ out for him.
For I’d tried the love of the others, and found it weak and cold,
An’ I kind o’ felt if Georgie knew that I was poor and old,
He’d help to make it better, and try to do his part,
For love and trust are last of all to die in a woman’s heart.
An’ he used to be always tellin’ when he was a man and strong,
How he’d work for father and mother; and he never done no wrong,
Exceptin’ his boyish mischief, an’ his runnin’ off to sea;—
So somehow now, out of them all, he seemed the best to me.
And so the slow days wore along, just as the days all go,