Betsey Bobbett: A Drama

by Marietta Holley

But nothing can we claim

Peedick. We will now sing the verse which Miss Bobbett composed for her own private devotions, but which she kindly permits the quire to use. She says it should be sung with great expression and feeling. (Betsey, who has been weeping gets up and sings this.)

All Sing.

Oh! sad I wander down life’s vale,

And drink life’s bitter cup,

Send down the man—

Send down the man—

Send down the manna of rich grace,

And I will rake it up.

Tirz. A. I don’t like the hymns we have sung to-night. We hain’t all sheep, and we don’t all of us want men seat down.