 | Memoralia |  |
THE POET'S SONG OF SORROW.
A Poet sat down by the grave of his child,
Sing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
And mourned for his loss till his grief had grown wild—
Oh! sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
Sing, oh! this deep sorrow shall be my pleasure—
This sorrow, this sorrow my pleasure shall be!
For here in this grave lies my heart's dearest treasure—
My sweet little Florence just taken from me!
Sing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
And mourned for his loss till his grief had grown wild—
Oh! sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
Sing, oh! this deep sorrow shall be my pleasure—
This sorrow, this sorrow my pleasure shall be!
For here in this grave lies my heart's dearest treasure—
My sweet little Florence just taken from me!
With his hand on his heart, with his eyes turned to Heaven—
Sing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
He prayed thus to God—“May my sins be forgiven!”
Oh! sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
Sing, oh! this deep sorrow shall be my pleasure—
This sorrow, this sorrow my pleasure shall be!
For here in this grave lies my heart's dearest treasure—
My sweet little Florence just taken from me!
Sing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
He prayed thus to God—“May my sins be forgiven!”
Oh! sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
Sing, oh! this deep sorrow shall be my pleasure—
This sorrow, this sorrow my pleasure shall be!
For here in this grave lies my heart's dearest treasure—
My sweet little Florence just taken from me!
His pale, slender hand now supported his head—
Sing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
As he knelt down to pray by the side of the dead!
Oh! sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
Sing, oh! this deep sorrow shall be my pleasure—
This sorrow, this sorrow my pleasure shall be!
For here in this grave lies my heart's dearest treasure—
My sweet little Florence just taken from me!
Sing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
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Oh! sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
Sing, oh! this deep sorrow shall be my pleasure—
This sorrow, this sorrow my pleasure shall be!
For here in this grave lies my heart's dearest treasure—
My sweet little Florence just taken from me!
His heart had so melted itself into tears—
Sing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
That his locks were all grey, but were grey not with years—
Oh! sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
Sing, oh! this deep sorrow shall my pleasure—
This sorrow, this sorrow my pleasure shall be!
For here in this grave lies my heart's dearest treasure—
My sweet little Florence just taken from me!
Sing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
That his locks were all grey, but were grey not with years—
Oh! sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
Sing, oh! this deep sorrow shall my pleasure—
This sorrow, this sorrow my pleasure shall be!
For here in this grave lies my heart's dearest treasure—
My sweet little Florence just taken from me!
The tears that he shed had so blinded his sight—
Sing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
That the bright world to him seemed as dark as the night—
Oh! sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
Sing, oh! this deep sorrow shall be my pleasure—
This sorrow, this sorrow my pleasure shall be!
For here in this grave lies my heart's dearest treasure—
My sweet little Florence just taken from me!
Sing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
That the bright world to him seemed as dark as the night—
Oh! sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
Sing, oh! this deep sorrow shall be my pleasure—
This sorrow, this sorrow my pleasure shall be!
For here in this grave lies my heart's dearest treasure—
My sweet little Florence just taken from me!
At morning he prayed there, he prayed there at even—
Sing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
And all that he wished was to meet her in Heaven,
From sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
Sing, oh! this deep sorrow shall be my pleasure—
This sorrow, this sorrow my pleasure shall be!
For high up in Heaven lives my heart's dearest treasure—
My sweet little Florence just taken from me!
Sing sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
And all that he wished was to meet her in Heaven,
From sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!
Sing, oh! this deep sorrow shall be my pleasure—
This sorrow, this sorrow my pleasure shall be!
For high up in Heaven lives my heart's dearest treasure—
My sweet little Florence just taken from me!
Oak Grove, March 10, 1843.
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