Copyright © Paul Howarth 2004

Only a tress of hair
He had stol'n one morning bright,
But the old man dash'd from his cheek a tear,
And murmur'd a name to him so dear,
As he kiss'd it and gaz'd thro, the night....
"Canst thou see me, my darling," he cried,
"From thy home with the angels now
As I watch where so oft by my side
Thou hast smil'd on me years ago,
Thou hast smil'd on me years ago?
I'm sad and lone, now thou art gone,
And oft is my heart like to break;
Since from Heav'n they came, my angel to claim,
And left me to weep and wake;
But Oh! 'twill be sweet when yonder we meet,
Till then, love, good night, good night."

Only a wither'd flow'r
She had worn 'mong her ringlets bright;
But the old man tenderly laid it by
With the tress he cherish'd with many a sigh,
And again look'd far thro' the night......
"Hark!" he whisper'd, "a voice I hear
Thro' the wind it murmurs low,
And creeps to my heart so near,
As a voice did years ago,
As a voice did years ago.
'Tis thine, my love, it woos me above
To thy home where the weary rest,
And I patiently wait, till at Heav'n's bright gate
I shall see thee 'mong angels blest......
And oh! 'twill be sweet when yonder we meet;
Till then, love, good night, good night,
Good night, good night, good night, good night!"

By Arthur Sullivan
Generated by NoteWorthy Composer

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