Coll. by Parler In folklore class
Jim Stalker Batesville, Ark August 20, 1958
Reel 363, Item 10
The Blind Child
(Words from his aunt in Mountain View, Mo., and the tune from a member of the class, Mrs. Donna Everett of Huntsville.)
They tell me, Father, that tonight You wed another bride,
That you will clasp her in your arms Where my poor mother died.
They say she'll lay her lovely head Upon your manly breast Just like my own dear mother did In life's last hours of rest.
They say her name is Mary too,
The name my mother bore,
But, Father, is she kind and true Like the one you loved before?
And is her step so soft and low,
Her voice so calm and mild,
And, Father, do you think she'll love Your blind and helpless child?
Oh Father, do not bid me come To meet your loving bride,
I could not meet her in the room Where my poor mother died.
Her picture's hanging on the wall,
Her books are lying there,
And here's the harp her fingers touched,
And there's her vacant chair.
As he arose to leave the room A joyful cry was given,
He turned and caught the last sweet smile,
His blind child was in heaven.
They laid her by her mother's side And raised a marble fair,
On it engraved those simple words,
"There'll be no blind ones there."
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