To haul the silvery shining prey
From out the whirling eddy's spray;
In July, '32, to land,
I drew two barrels with my own hand,
The trophies of the hook and line
In the dear days of auld lang syne
That was the fatal month and year
When cholera was rampant here;
Malignant Asiatic type,
Which from the book of life did wipe
The name of many a sturdy one
'Twixt rise and setting of the sun.
Dread terror brooded o'er the land,
While the destroying angel's hand
Smote here and there each deadly blow,
Which laid in dust the proudest low!
As I remember--those fared worst,
Who in that dismal time were curst
With dangerous and insatiate thirst.
And H.V. Noel, surely here
His name is worthy to appear;
'Mongst those whom I so long have known,
Tis strange that he has not outgrown
The friendship of the early few
Into who's confidence he grew,
By the unchanging honest course
He steered for better or for worse,
Well has he worn, long may he bear
Up stoutly 'gainst the world's care!
John Cruickshank of the kirk, who prayed