As she did for hers, or else how could they defile
A little boy like me with such a tool of evil
Specially devoted to sin and the service of the devil.
I took my poor fiddle and lugged it to my room,
Where I did not string it up so very soon.
But on one rainy day I took it out to play
Strains of old hymns that in my memory lay.
The thunder’s crash and the lightning’s play
Could not from my aunt keep away
The penetrating sound my violin bore,