The Black-Edged Letter from Home.
Copyright, 1891, by Willis Woodward & Co.
Words and Music by Morris Weston.
In a village In Australia, far away from London shore,
Many poor men wandered there to search for precious ore;
Left their families far behind them to strive for their daily bread;
Wives and mothers for news were waiting to hear were they living or dead;
At the village post-office waited miners for their mail;
Some had good news, some had bad news-their expressions told their tale;
One was handed a black-edged letter, which he waited to have read;
Little Knew that mark of mourning that we all so deeply dread.
Yes, that Is from my boy, what does he say?
Can it be that Nell is dead, and I so far away?
What will become of our little ones left all alone;
Oh, this will break my heart, the black-edged letter from home.
Back to his tent he traveled, thinking of his poor wife Nell,
With his pard he shared their gold, to him his sad tale did tell;
How together they did struggle to keep poverty from the door,
And now with all this gold he ne'er would see her more;
The little ones are waiting, praying for papa day by day;
Not knowing if he'd the letter that they sent so far away;
I bid you now "good-bye," mate, you can work the claim alone;
And may you ne'er receive a black-edged letter from home.-Chorus.