“But many a boat goes down at sea:”
“O! friend, but you’re unco trying,
Pray how many more come into port,
With a’ their colors flying?
“Would ye idly drift with changing tides,
Till lost in a sea of sorrow?”
“Ah! no, good Cricket, I’ll take the oars
And cheerfully row to-morrow.”
“I would! I would! Yes, I would!” he chirped,
While I watched the bright fire burning,