THERE’S a little cottage nestling
Under trees whose tops are wrestling
With the strong winds from the hill;
At their feet the air is still.
There’s a garden trim and sweet,
And a rest for travellers’ weary feet.
There’s a little window beaming
In the night where lamps are gleaming;
While abroad upon the air
Ride distress and shame and care;
In that cot beside the coals
There’s a rest for travellers’ weary souls.
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