THE ROSE MY MOTHER WORE.
Copyright, 1894, by Wldmer-Stigler Music Pub. Co.
Words and Music by Charles Edwards.
Within our fam'ly bible there's a flower fondly pressed,
A token of a mother dear, who's long been laid to rest,
A treasure that we cherish more than all the wealth of gold -
The wither'd leaves bring back to mind the story mother told.
'Twas once a little red, red rose, and worn on mother's breast;
Of all the flowers in the world this one she loved the best.
It filled our hearts with pleasure in the happy days of yore.
When first we heard the story of the rose my mother wore.
Only a rose, now faded, that once dear mother wore,
Its leaves, the dearest token of that mother gone before;
This rose, long dead and wither'd, I love it more and more,
The rose that in its beauty my mother proudly wore.
When gather'd 'round our old fireside, 'twas mother's pride to tell
A tale of youth and love and home that she remembered well:
When she, in all her girlish pride, upon her wedding day
Met father in the village church, her marriage vows to say.
Ant as alone, to plight her faith, she stood without a friend,
The parson's son and daughter came and did their service lend;
A blushing rose that found its way, an uninvited guest,
My father took from off the floor and pinned to mother's breast.- Chorus.
The rose was kept through weal and woe, it stayed a lasting guest.
And in the time-worn bible found a holy place of rest;
It came, a sign of love and joy, when hearts were joined In one.
It stayed throughout their wedded life until their day was done.
And then, a wither'd, faded rose, a happy tale it told
Of marriages in heaven made and love that's never old;
And now we love it as a friend of parents gone before,
This wither'd form and faded leaves, the rose my mother wore.- Chorus.