Copyright, 1896, by Jos. W. Stern & Co.
By Max S. Witt.
I know a dear little maiden, whose name is Grace;
She has a pretty, bewitching, sweet, smiling face:
When you have seen her, you all with me will agree
That ne'er before have you seen such a queen as she;
She's pure as the lilies, modest in form and face;
Who could not love her, my little dark-eyed Grace.
Grace O'Moore Is the girl I love.
True to me she is as the stars above;
If you roam this wide world o'er.
Not a girl can equal her, my Grace O'Moore.
Yes, she has promised my own little wife to be,
That makes me happy, for no greater boon to me;
Her truest love I have won, I can proudly say;
And to the future I now look without dismay.
Though skies may o'ershadow, boding I'll winds and rain.
We will be happy, for sunshine must come again.-Chorus.