Collected by Parler In Folklore Class
Anne Hart Paris, Ark. January 14, 1960
Reel 362, Item 2
Wreck of Old No. 9
On a cold winter night Not a start was in sight,
And the North wind was howling down the line,
With his sweetheart so dear
Stood a brave engineer
With his orders to pull old Number 9.
She kissed him goodby With a tear in her eye
But the joy in his heart he cou;d not hide,
For the whole world seemed bright
As she told him that night
That tomorrow she'd be his blushing bride.
He sped round the hill
And his brave heart stood dtill
For a red light was shinging in his face
He whispered a prayer as hen through on the air
For he knew this would be his final race.
In the wreck he was found Lying there on the ground And he asked them to raise his weary head,
As his breath slowly went,
This message he dent
To the maiden who thought she would be wed
There's a little white home That I built for our own,
Where I dreamed we'd be happy by and by,
I will leave it to you,
For I know you'll be true,
Till we meet at the golden gate, Good-bye.
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