American Old Time Song Lyrics: 09 The Dying Girls Message

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 9

THE DYING GIRL'S MESSAGE.
Copyright, 1885, by Henry J. Wehman.

Raise the window higher, mother, air can never harm me now,
Let the breeze blow in upon me, it will cool my fevered brow;
Soon death's struggles will be over, soon be still'd this aching heart.
But I have a dying message I would give before we part:
Lay my head upon your bosom, fold me closer, mother, dear,
While I breathe a name long silent, in thy fond and loving ear;
Mother, there is one-you know him-oh, I cannot speak his name,
You remember how he sought me, how with loving words he came.

How he gained my young affection, vowing in most tender tone
That he would forever guard me, were my heart but his alone;
You remember how I trusted, how my thoughts were all of him-
Draw the curtain higher, mother, for the light is growing dim.
Need I tell you how he left me, coldly putting me aside,
How he wooed and won another, and now claims her as his bride?
Life has been a weary burden since those hours of deepest woe-
Wipe these cold drops from my forehead, they are death marks well I know.

Gladly I obey the summons to a bright and better land,
Where no hearts are won and broken, but all form a happy baud :
Do not chide him, mother, darling, though ray form you see no more;
Grieve not, think me only waiting for you on the other shore.
Do not chide him, mother, darling, though you miss me from your side.
I forgive him, and I wish him joy with her so soon his bride;
Take this ring from off my finger, where he placed it long ago.
Give it to him with a blessing, that in dying I bestow.

Tell him that it is a token of forgiveness and of peace-
Hark! I hear his voice, it passeth ; will those watching never cease?
Hark! I hear his footsteps coming-no, 'tis but the rustling trees;
Strange how my disordered fancy caught his footfall on the breeze.
I am cold now, close the window, fold me closer-kiss me, too ;
Joy 1 what means that burst of music ? 'tis the Saviour's voice, I know;
See Him waiting to receive me! oh. how great a bliss to die-
Mother, meet your child in heaven, one more kiss, and then-good-bye.