Last night as in sweet sleep I lay.
My dreaming thoughts roamed far away,
The scenes my early childhood knew
In smiling freshness rose to view;
Then passed before me pure and mild
A mother, bending o'er her child,
Again those clarion accents rung
"O, leave us not, my darling son."
Then let our chorus loudly ring,
The Broken Miner's lot I sing,
Most bitter is the lot indeed
Of him who cannot find the "lead."
The midnight hours roll slowly past,
And coldly blows the northern blast,
No more, to-night, will tranquil sleep
In sweet repose my spirit keep,
My blankets thin, and cabin cold,
Proclaim how vain this thirst for gold!
Most wretched is the lot indeed
Of him who cannot find the "lead."
Then let our chorus loudly ring, &c.
