Then my heart sank within me, so weak and so pale,
As I gazed on the keeper of dungeon and jail
And begged for a drink of pure Adams' ale,
As he held in his hand a full water pail—
But the answer came back, "Your plea it must fail."
Then, giving it up in pure desperation,
I try to surpass the curse of damnation
That springs to my lips ere I can but control
The blood that is boiled by such torturing droll—
Then I whisper, "Be still! Some one loves this poor soul."
Then, staid by the love of those dear ones at home,
I steady myself and go swimming along;
I brave the hard life of a dark dungeon cell
And I come out victorious, all perfect and well—
Then I meet them again and go home there to dwell.
'T is well! Ah, 't is well!