English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians

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	The Wife of Usher's Well
	8 Dear mother, it is the fruits of your own piide heart That has caused us to lie in the clay. Cold clods at our head, green grass at our feet, We are wrapped in our winding-sheets.
	B

	2 They hadn't been there but a very short time, Scarcely six weeks and three days, Till sickness came into that old town And swept her babes away. 3 She dreamed a dream when the nights were long, When the nights were long and cold. She dreamed she saw her three little babes Come walking down to their home. 4 She spread them a table on a milk-white cloth And on it she put cake and wine. Come and eat, come and eat, my three little babes, Come and eat and drink of mine. 5 No mother, no mother, don't want your cakes, Nor neither drink your wine, For yonder stands our Saviour dear To take us in his arms.
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