The night was dark when Sam set out To court old Jones's daughter; He kinder felt as if he must, And kinder hadn't oughter. His heart against his waistcoat throbbed, His feelings had a tussle, Which nearly conquered him despite Six feet of bone and muscle.
The candle in the window shone With a most doleful glimmer, And Sam he felt his courage ooze, And through his fingers simmer. Says he: "Now, Sam, don't be a fool, Take courage, shaking doubter, Go on, and pop the question right, For you can't live without her."
But still, as he drew near the house, His knees got in a tremble, The beating of his heart ne'er beat His efforts to dissemble. Says he: "Now, Sam, don't be a goose, And let the female wimmin Knock all your thoughts a-skelter so, And set your heart a-swimmin'."
So Sam, he kinder raised the latch, His courage also raising, And in a moment he sat inside, Cid Jones's crops a-praising. He tried awhile to talk the farm In words half dull, half witty, Not knowing that old Jones well knew His only thought was--Kitty.
At last the old folks went to bed-- The Joneses were but human; Old Jones was something of a man, And Mrs. Jones--a woman. And Kitty she the pitcher took, And started for the cellar; It wasn't often that she had So promising a feller.
And somehow when she came upstairs, And Sam had drank his cider, There seemed a difference in the chairs, And Sam was close beside her; His stalwart arm dropped round her waist, Her head dropped on his shoulder, And Sam--well, he had changed his tune And grown a trifle bolder.
But this, if you live long enough, You surely will discover, There's nothing in this world of ours Except the loved and lover. The morning sky was growing gray As Sam the farm was leaving, His face was surely not the face Of one half grieved, or grieving.
And Kitty she walked smiling back, With blushing face, and slowly; There's something in the humblest love That makes it pure and holy. And did he marry her, you ask? She stands there with the ladle A-skimming of the morning's milk-- That's Sam who rocks the cradle.
'Tis a cold, bleak night! with angry roar The north winds beat and clamor at the door; The drifted snow lies heaped along the street, Swept by a blinding storm of hail and sleet; The clouded heavens no guiding starlight lend But o'er the earth in gloom and darkness bend; Gigantic shadows, by the night lamps thrown, Dance their weird revels fitfully alone.