| Along crags and sunless cracks I go Up rib of rock, donw spine of stone
|
| I dare not slumber where the night winds whistle
|
| Lest her creeping-soul clutch this heart of thistle
|
| O the same God that abandon’d her
|
| Has in turn abandon’d me And softenin’the turf with my tears
|
| I dug a Well of Misery
|
| And, in that Well of Misery
|
| Hangs a bucket fulla Sorrow
|
| It swings slow an’achin’like a bell
|
| Its toll is dead and hollow
|
| Down that well lies the long-lost dress
|
| of my lil floatin girl
|
| That muffles a tear that you let fall
|
| All down that Well of Misery
|
| Put ya shoulder to the handle, if ya dare
|
| and hoist that bucket, hither
|
| Lord, crank’n’hoist’n’hoist’n’crank
|
| Till ya muscles waste’n’wither
|
| O the same God that abandon’d her
|
| Has in turn abandon’d me Deep in the Desert of Despair
|
| I wait at the Well of Misery |