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ON ANGLING. Ill
When this old rod was new,
The sons of toil could ply The "gentle art" right cheerily,
And cast the treacherous fly ; But time hath wrought sad change,
A change the land shall rue— No keeper marred the sport,
When this old rod was new.
When this old rod was new,
No British man might die On British ground, 'mid British wealth,
Of want and misery. No one-eyed laws were made,
The rich alone to view ; They did not punish poverty,
When this old rod was new.
When this old rod was new,
We loved the house of God, And learned in all our griefs,
To kiss the chastening rod ; The church we sought with joy ;
Our pastors served us true— No magistrates were they,
When this old rod was new. |
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