That she still does hover o’er us,
And will be our guiding star,
Chorus.
She sleeps the sleep that knows no waking, etc.
Little footsteps now will journey
In the world of sin no more;
Ne’er they’ll press the sandbanks lightly,
By the golden river’s shore.
Mother, weep not; father, grieve not,
Try to smooth your trouble o’er,