TOBACCO LEAVES 



So my old black pipe is a friend to me, 



And smooths the paths I tread, 

 Recalling the joys of the former time, 



Reviving hopes that were dead. 

 Yea, my old black pipe is a friend to 

 me, 



Bridging the stream of life, 

 Landing my soul in the world of rest, 



Free from earth's care and strife. 



As the blue smoke curls from my old black 



pipe, 



The burthen of grief grows light ; 

 The morning of joy breaks bright and 



clear, 



Dismissing the ghosts of night. 

 Thus my soul looks out for the brighter 



time, 



The dew from my eyes I wipe, 

 And I seem to mate with my love again 

 As I smoke my old black pipe. 



j. D. 

 94 



