The Little Dove.

The Little Dove.
570.4

One day all in a lonely grove
Sat o’er my head a little dove,
For her lost mate hogan to coo,
Which made me think of my mate, too.

Oh, little dove, you’re not alone,
With you I am constrained to mourn:
For I. like you, once had a mate,
But now, like you, I mourn any fate.

Consumption seized her lungs severo
And preyed upon her one long year.
Till death did come at close of day.
And my poor Mary Lu did slay.

But death, grim death, did not stop here.
I had a babe to me most dear;
He, like a vulture came again
And took from me my little Jane.

But bless the Lord, the world is givon
That babes are born the heirs of heaven.
Then cease, my heart, to mourn for Jane,
Since my small loss is her great gain.