The Ghost of Deacon Brown

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The Ghost of Deacon Brown

In a backwoods town

Lived Deacon Brown,

And he was a miser old;

He would trust no bank,

So he dug, and sank

In the ground a box of gold,

Down deep in the ground a box of gold.

He hid his gold,

As has been told,

He remembered that he did it;

But sad to say,

On the very next day,

He forgot just where he hid it:

To find his gold he tried and tried

Till he grew faint and sick, and died.

Then on each dark and gloomy night

A form in phosphorescent white,

A genuine hair-raising sight,

Would wander through the town.

And as it slowly roamed around,

With a spade it dug each foot of ground;

So the folks about

Said there was no doubt

’Twas the ghost of Deacon Brown.

Around the church

This Ghost would search,

And whenever it would see

The passers-by

Take wings and fly

It would laugh in ghostly glee,

Hee, hee!⁠—it would laugh in ghostly glee.

And so the town

Went quickly down,

For they said that it was haunted;

And doors and gates,

So the story states,

Bore a notice, “Tenants wanted.”

And the town is now for let,

But the ghost is digging yet.