Will you come with me, my Phillis, dear, to yon blue mountain free, Where the blossoms smell the sweetest, come rove along with me. It’s every Sunday morning, when I am by your side, We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride. CHORUS.--Wait for the wagon, Wait for the wagon, Wait for the wagon, And we’ll all take a ride. Where the river runs like silver, and the birds they sing so sweet, I have a cabin, Phillis, and something good to eat. Come listen to my story, it will relieve my heart, So jump into the wagon, and off we will start. Wait for the wagon, &c. Do you believe, my Phillis, dear, old Mike with all his wealth, Can make you half so happy, as I with youth and health? We’ll have a little farm, a horse, a pig, and cow, And you will mind the dairy, while I do guide the plow. Wait for the wagon, &c. Your lips are red as poppies, your hair so slick and neat, All braided up with dahlias, and hollyhocks so sweet, It’s every Sunday morning, when I am by your side, We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride. Wait for the wagon, &c. Together on life’s journey, we’ll travel till we stop, And if we have no trouble, we’ll reach the happy top. Then come with me, sweet Phillis, my dear, my lovely bride, We’ll jump into the wagon, and all take a ride. Wait for the wagon, &c. The Old Farm-House. 47 Oh, the old farm-house, down beside the valley stream, Where in childhood so oft I have play’d, Ere sorrow had clouded my heart’s early dream, Or life’s purest joys had decay’d; How well I remember the vine-cover’d roof, And the rose-bushes clustering nigh, And the tall, stately poplar-trees standing aloof, Whose tops seem’d to reach to the sky, Oh! the old farm-house, my childhood’s happy home. Oh, the old farm-house, how I’ve sported round its hearth With my sisters and brothers so dear; How oft has it rung with our innocent mirth, And hallow’d our soft evening-prayer; But the old farm-house now is bowing to decay, Its stones like dead friends lie apart; But its dear, cherish’d image shall ne’er fade away From affection’s domain in my heart. Oh! the old farm-house, my childhood’s happy home. The Sword of Bunker Hill. 48 Copied by permission of RUSSELL & TOLMAN, 291 Washington St., Boston, owners of the copyright.