Sung by: J. Don Stark
Recorded in Miller, AR, 6/23/53

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One day, down in a lonesome grove,
Set o'er my head a little dove.
For its lost mate it did begin to call;
That made me think of my mate, too.

I says, "Little dove, you are not alone;
With thee I am constrained to mourn.
I once, like you, did have a mate,
But never did I mourn my fate.

"We lived happy for a while;
There were born to us a little child.
Then consumption seized upon her breast,
And held her fast for one long year.
Until death came around at the close of the day,
And my poor Mary, it did slay.

"She says to me, 'My dearest friend,
Go on, prove faithful to the end.
We soon shall meet on Canaan's shore,
Where parting will be known no more.'

"But death--oh, death--it did not stop there;
That little babe, she was dear to me,
And death like nature came again,
And taken from me my darling little Jane.

"Her little arms that embrace me 'round,
Lie mouldering in the cold clay ground,
But I thank the Lord for all He's . . .
. . . race is almost run.
I soon shall see life's setting sun.
I hope to meet them both on heaven's shore,
But you may see your mate no more."

Also found in Randolph, Vol. IV, #607; Brown, Vol. III, #305.

All Songs Recorded by John Quincy Wolf, Jr., unless otherwise noted

The John Quincy Wolf Folklore Collection
Lyon College, Batesville, Arkansas
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