PAPA, COME HOME.
The wind was howling, and the storm
Beat through the broken window glass;
And on the floor a sickly wife
Was waiting from this world to pass.
Right beside her, little Ida
Watched her mother's sinking eye,
And softly whispered: "God in heaven.
Send papa home to see my mamma die."
"Papa, come home! papa come home!"
And she raised her little hand up high;
"Papa, come home! papa, come home I
Come, see my mamma die!
No footstep came, the shoeless child
To find him faced the sleet and rain;
She found him stupefied with drink,
And begged of him to come, but begged in vain.
The drunkard struck his little daughter,
She turned her sweet face to the sky,
Then said: "May God forgive you, papa,
Please come home and see my mamma die.-Chorus
Then she turned towards home heart-broken,
With feet most bare away she sped;
But when she reached the old straw mattress
Little Ida found her mamma dead.
The drunkard comes, his child is dying,
She whispered him a sweet good-bye;
"Though you're drunk, please kiss me, papal
I only wish you'd seen my mamma die.
"Papa, good-bye! papa, good-bye!"
Oh, the tears did blind the drunkard's eye;
He kissed her good-bye, then said with a sigh:
"I wish I'd seen your mamma die."