My food is but spare, And humble my cot, Yet Jesus dwells there And blesses my lot: Though thinly I'm clad, And tempests oft roll, He's raiment, and bread, And drink to my soul....
One sunny morn of May, When dressed in flowery green The dewy landscape, charmed With Nature's fairest scene, In thoughtful mood I slowly strayed O'er hill and dale, Through bush and glade....
Should poverty, modest and clean, E'er please, when presented to view, Should cabin on brown heath, or green, Disclose aught engaging to you, Should Erin's wild harp soothe the ear...