LIFE'S BEEN BUT A DREAM, LOVE.
Copyright, 1897, by A Scull & Co.
Words and music by Mina Deane.
Upon a quiet village street a little cottage stands.
Where sweet wild roses climb above the door;
A white-haired man Is smoking in an old-timed rocking chair,
His faithful wife is knitting one sock more;
His hair has lost its golden and her eyes have lost their sight,
Her once fair hands are wrinkled now and old,
Yet she loves to hear her husband tell of happy days gone by,
When she was young and he her lover bold.
We're growing old together, love, both growing old and gray,
Hand in hand we started life, then we were young and gay;
But now your face is withered, love, once it was wondrous fair,
Life's been but a dream, love, why should we care.
As time went by And children came to bless this happy home,
Each boy or girl seemed dearer than the last;
The girls are wives And mothers now, the boys to manhood grown,
And all have left the old home of the past;
Father bends his bead and slips his arm 'round mother's waist.
He sees her eyes are full of unshed tears;
And he draws her nearer to him, as he did long years ago,
These words are full of comfort that she hears:- chorus.