Lonesome

Lonesome

Though the golden sun is rising o'er my home so fair today, Yet I'm sad, and my heart is lonely, since you have gone away; And at noon-time, when the bees are softly droning o'er the corn, All the flowers nod and softly whisper, "You are left alone."

Then when the crimson sun is setting, and the bees have gone to rest, When the grass the dew is wetting, and the bird is in his nest, Then my heart grows sad and dreary; when I hear the night bird call, That is when I'm lonesome, dearie, and miss you most of all.

Through the long, dark hours of night-time, while the stars shine white and fair, You are with me, but when light comes then you leave me lonely there. When my soul is passing heavenward, you will softly whisper, "Come," And you'll take my hand in yours, dear, while you lead me safely home.

Kirtland, N. M.
Thora Gale