Words and Music by: Stephen C. Foster
The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home
'Tis summer, the people are gay;
The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day;
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
All merry, all happy, and bright,
By'n by hard times comes a-knocking at the door,
Then my old Kentucky home, good night!
Chorus
Weep no more, my lady,
Oh weep no more today!
We will sing one song for the old Kentucky home,
For the old Kentucky home far away.
They hunt no more for the 'possum and the coon,
On meadow, the hill and the shore,
They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
On the bench by that old cabin door;
The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,
With sorrow where all was delight;
The time has come when the people have to part,
Then my old Kentucky home, good night!
Chorus
The head must bow and the back will have to bend,
Wherever the people may go;
A few more days and the trouble all will end
In the field where sugar-canes may grow;
A few more days for to tote the weary load,
No matter, 'twill never be light,
A few more days till we totter on the road,
Then my old Kentucky home, good night!
Chorus
2008-12-16
When this cruel war is over
Dearest Love, do you remember?
When we last did meet?
How you told me that you loved me kneeling at my feet.
How proud you stood before me in your suit of blue [grey]
When you vowed to me and country ever to be true? [nevermore to stray]
Weeping, sad and lonely, hopes and fears, how vain!
When this cruel war is over praying then to meet again.
When the summer breeze is sighing, mournfully along,
Or when autumn leaves are falling, sadly breathes this song.
Oft in dreams I see thee lying on the battle plain,
Lonely, wounded, even dying, calling out in vain.
Weeping, sad and lonely, hopes and fears, how vain!
When this cruel war is over praying then to meet again.
If amid the din of battle, nobly you should fall,
Far away from those who love you, none to hear you call
Who would whisper words of comfort, who would soothe your pain?
Ah! The many cruel fancies, ever in my brain.
Weeping, sad and lonely, hopes and fears, how vain!
When this cruel war is over praying then to meet again.
But our Country called you, Darling, angels cheer your way;
While our nation's sons are fighting, we can only pray.
Nobly strike for God and Liberty, let all nations see,
How we loved our starry banner, emblem of the free.
Weeping, sad and lonely, hopes and fears, how vain!
When this cruel war is over praying then to meet again.
When we last did meet?
How you told me that you loved me kneeling at my feet.
How proud you stood before me in your suit of blue [grey]
When you vowed to me and country ever to be true? [nevermore to stray]
Weeping, sad and lonely, hopes and fears, how vain!
When this cruel war is over praying then to meet again.
When the summer breeze is sighing, mournfully along,
Or when autumn leaves are falling, sadly breathes this song.
Oft in dreams I see thee lying on the battle plain,
Lonely, wounded, even dying, calling out in vain.
Weeping, sad and lonely, hopes and fears, how vain!
When this cruel war is over praying then to meet again.
If amid the din of battle, nobly you should fall,
Far away from those who love you, none to hear you call
Who would whisper words of comfort, who would soothe your pain?
Ah! The many cruel fancies, ever in my brain.
Weeping, sad and lonely, hopes and fears, how vain!
When this cruel war is over praying then to meet again.
But our Country called you, Darling, angels cheer your way;
While our nation's sons are fighting, we can only pray.
Nobly strike for God and Liberty, let all nations see,
How we loved our starry banner, emblem of the free.
Weeping, sad and lonely, hopes and fears, how vain!
When this cruel war is over praying then to meet again.
2008-12-15
She is far from the land
She is far from the land
Where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her, sighing;
But coldly she turns
From their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.
She sings the wild songs
Of her dear native plains,
Ev'ry note which she loved awakening -
Ah! little they think
Who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the Minstrel
is breaking.
He had lived for his love,
For his country he died,
They were all that to life
Had entwined him -
Nor soon shall the tears
Of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love
Stay behind him.
Oh! make her a grave
Where the sunbeams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;
They'll shine o'er her sleep
Like a smile from the West,
From her own loved
Island of sorrow.
-Thomas Moore
Where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her, sighing;
But coldly she turns
From their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.
She sings the wild songs
Of her dear native plains,
Ev'ry note which she loved awakening -
Ah! little they think
Who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the Minstrel
is breaking.
He had lived for his love,
For his country he died,
They were all that to life
Had entwined him -
Nor soon shall the tears
Of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love
Stay behind him.
Oh! make her a grave
Where the sunbeams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;
They'll shine o'er her sleep
Like a smile from the West,
From her own loved
Island of sorrow.
-Thomas Moore
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