The Little Dove

As I sat in a lonesome grove
Sat over my head a little dove
For it’s lost mate began to coo
It made me think of my maid, too
Oh, little dove, you’re not alone
With you, I am—constrained to mourn
I once, like you, did have a mate
But now I’m left to mourn my fate
Consumption ceased, her lungs severe
And prayed on her for one long year
Till death came at the break of day
And my poor Mary, he did slay
Her blooming cheeks, her sparkling eyes
Are withred like the ros that dies
The arms that once did embrace me 'round
Lie moldering now in the cold ground
But death, grim death, did not stop here
I had one child, to me most dear
Death, like a vulture came again
And took from me, my little Jane
But, bless the Lord, his word is given
Declaring babes are airs of heaven
Then ceased my heart to mourn for Jane
Since my small loss is her great gain
There is one thing that cheers my breast
That my dear Mary’s gone to rest
For while her dying tongue could move
She prayed the Lord to pardoning love
She said to me, «My dearest friend
Go on, prove faithful to the end
And if on Earth, we meet no more
Oh, may we meet on Canaan’s shore»
Oh, hasten on, that happy day
When I must leave this clod of clay
And soar on high to that blessed plane
Where I’ll meet Mary and my Jane