Copyright, 1894, by M. A. Crosby.
Words by M. A. Crosby. Music by D. S. McCosh.
I know a gentle maiden, so modest, sweet and kind;
She never dreams her picture is ever in my mind.
The mocking bird is singing beyond the rose hedge near;
I would his note could tell her that she has grown so dear.
Oh, Mabel, lovely Mabel, let North or South winds blow,
My heart I lay before you, 'tis yours for weal or woe;
For, Mabel, rosebud Mabel, though years may come and go,
My tongue can only utter, "I love, I love you so."
Upon her cheek the color fair flushes at dawn;
There's only laughing sunshine where she has come and gone.
Her voice is soft and tender, her eyes are calm and bright;
Her whole life pure and open, a jewel full of light.-Chorus.
Whate'er I feel of goodness that sets my heart astir,
And prompts to worthy action, it comes from thoughts of her.
Say not such love must wither or with the roses die;
Say, rather, bloom forever when slurs have fled the sky.- Chorus.