Words and music by Chas. Graham.
A plain little cottage, a cold winter’s day,
A fond mother’s life slowly ebbing away,
Two sisters in tears standing there by her bed,
To hear the last words that their dearest friend said.
One sister to womanhood lately had grown,
The other to fifteen years scarcely could own.
The poor mother knew that the youngest was wild,
So her counsel she gave to her fair, youngest child;
“There are things, little girl, that you can’t understand,