The Old Kirk-Yard.Copied by permission ofFirth, Pond, & Co., 547 Broadway, publishers of the music.Oh, come with me to the old kirk-yard,I well know the path through the soft, green sward;Friends slumber there we were wont to regard,We’ll trace out their names in the old kirk-yard.Oh, mourn not for them, their grief is o’er,Oh, weep not for them, they weep no more.For deep is their sleep, though cold and hard,Their pillow may be in the old kirk-yard.I know it is vain when friends depart,To breathe kind words to a broken heart;I know that the joy of life seems marr’d;When we follow them home to the old kirk-yard.But were I at rest beneath yon tree,Why should’st thou weep, dear love, for me?I’m way-worn and sad, ah, why then retard,The rest that I seek in the old kirk-yard?
Copied by permission ofFirth, Pond, & Co., 547 Broadway, publishers of the music.
Oh, come with me to the old kirk-yard,I well know the path through the soft, green sward;Friends slumber there we were wont to regard,We’ll trace out their names in the old kirk-yard.Oh, mourn not for them, their grief is o’er,Oh, weep not for them, they weep no more.For deep is their sleep, though cold and hard,Their pillow may be in the old kirk-yard.I know it is vain when friends depart,To breathe kind words to a broken heart;I know that the joy of life seems marr’d;When we follow them home to the old kirk-yard.But were I at rest beneath yon tree,Why should’st thou weep, dear love, for me?I’m way-worn and sad, ah, why then retard,The rest that I seek in the old kirk-yard?
Oh, come with me to the old kirk-yard,I well know the path through the soft, green sward;Friends slumber there we were wont to regard,We’ll trace out their names in the old kirk-yard.Oh, mourn not for them, their grief is o’er,Oh, weep not for them, they weep no more.For deep is their sleep, though cold and hard,Their pillow may be in the old kirk-yard.I know it is vain when friends depart,To breathe kind words to a broken heart;I know that the joy of life seems marr’d;When we follow them home to the old kirk-yard.But were I at rest beneath yon tree,Why should’st thou weep, dear love, for me?I’m way-worn and sad, ah, why then retard,The rest that I seek in the old kirk-yard?
Oh, come with me to the old kirk-yard,I well know the path through the soft, green sward;Friends slumber there we were wont to regard,We’ll trace out their names in the old kirk-yard.Oh, mourn not for them, their grief is o’er,Oh, weep not for them, they weep no more.For deep is their sleep, though cold and hard,Their pillow may be in the old kirk-yard.
Oh, come with me to the old kirk-yard,
I well know the path through the soft, green sward;
Friends slumber there we were wont to regard,
We’ll trace out their names in the old kirk-yard.
Oh, mourn not for them, their grief is o’er,
Oh, weep not for them, they weep no more.
For deep is their sleep, though cold and hard,
Their pillow may be in the old kirk-yard.
I know it is vain when friends depart,To breathe kind words to a broken heart;I know that the joy of life seems marr’d;When we follow them home to the old kirk-yard.But were I at rest beneath yon tree,Why should’st thou weep, dear love, for me?I’m way-worn and sad, ah, why then retard,The rest that I seek in the old kirk-yard?
I know it is vain when friends depart,
To breathe kind words to a broken heart;
I know that the joy of life seems marr’d;
When we follow them home to the old kirk-yard.
But were I at rest beneath yon tree,
Why should’st thou weep, dear love, for me?
I’m way-worn and sad, ah, why then retard,
The rest that I seek in the old kirk-yard?