The Little Low Room where I Courted my Wife.
Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, publisher of the music.
My brow is seam’d o’er with the iron of years,
And the snow threads are gleaming the furrows among,
My eyes have grown dim in the shadow of tears,
Where the flowers of my soul have died as they sprung,
But memory bears to me on its broad wings
Bright images true of my earliest life,
And there, ’mid the fairest of all that is seen,
Is the little low room where I courted my wife,
Is the little low room where I courted my wife.
That low, humble room seem’d a palace of light,
As love held his torch, and illumined the scene,
With glory of state and profusion bedight,
Where I was a monarch, my darling a queen;
Ourselves were our subjects, pledged loyal were each,
And which should love best was our heartiest strife;
What tales could it tell, if possessing a speech,
That little low room where I courted my wife,
That little low room where I courted my wife.
Warm vows has it heard, the warmest e’er spoke,
Where lips have met lips in holy embrace,
Where feelings that never to utterance woke,
It saw oft reveal’d in a duplicate face;
The sweet hours hasten’d, how quickly they flew,
With fervent devotion and ecstasy rife!
Our hearts throbb’d the hours, but how I ne’er knew,
In the little low room where I courted my wife,
In the little low room where I courted my wife.
The romance of youth lent its rapturous zest,
And fairydom knew no delight like our own;
Our words were but few, but they were the best,
A dialect sweet for ourselves all alone.
So anxious to hear what the other might say,
We neither could utter a word for our life;
Thus the hours, in silence, pass’d quickly away
In the little low room where I courted my wife,
In the little low room where I courted my wife.
Long years have since pass’d o’er my darling and I,
The roses have vanish’d away from her cheek,
But the merciless moments, as onward they fly,
Leave love still undimm’d in her bosom so meek;
That love is the light to our faltering feet,
Our comfort in hours with sorrowing rife,
Our blessings in joy, as with joy ’twas replete,
In the little low room where I courted my wife,
In the little low room where I courted my wife.