Sung by: Berry Sutterfield

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I am dying, brother, dying.
Soon you'll miss me in your berth,
And my form will soon be lying
'Neath the ocean's briny surf.

Oh, lie up nearer, brother, nearer,
For my limbs are growing cold,
And thy presence seemeth dear
When thy arms around me fold.

Tell my father when you greet him,
That in death I prayed for him.
Prayed that I might one day meet him
In a world that's free from sin.

Tell my mother, God as sister . . .
Now that she is growing old.
Tell her son was glad to have kissed her
When his lips grew pale and cold.

Also found in Randolph, Vol. II, #183; Belden, p. 350.

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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