[1]

[1]

LET ME SING OF WHAT I KNOW

A wild west Coast, a little Town,

Where little Folk go up and down,

Tides flow and winds blow:

Night and Tempest and the Sea,

Human Will and Human Fate:

What is little, what is great?

Howsoe'er the answer be,

Let me sing of what I know.

THE WINDING BANKS OF ERNE

Adieu to Belashanny!

where I was bred and born;

Go where I may, I'll think of you,

as sure as night and morn.

The kindly spot, the friendly town,

where every one is known,

And not a face in all the place

but partly seems my own;

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