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In an Irish country home, one evening long ago,
Sat an old man and his little daughter, Nel;
Said the girl with Irish glee, as she played on her papa's knee,
A story that you promised you would tell.
Come tell me of the past, of my mother dear, she asked,
Come tell me how she used to look, she cried;
And to Nel the old man said, as he slowly bent his head,
Tears were in his eyes when he replied.
She was sweeter than the blossoms on a clover,
She was fairer than the evening's sunset glow;
But I never will forget how much I loved her,
When your mother took my name long, long ago.
We were married she and I, and every way we tried,
To make our house a home of happiness;
Till one bright September morn, on the day that you were born,
God took her to a brighter home above.
She was sweeter than the blossoms on a clover,
She was fairer than the evening's sunset glow;
But I never will forget how much I loved her,
When your mother took my name long, long ago.
In an Irish country home, one evening long ago,
Said an old man to his little daughter, Nel;
Though the best of friends must part, she was dearer to my heart,
For your mother was the only one I love.
She was sweeter than the blossoms on a clover,
She was fairer than the evening's sunset glow;
But I never will forget how much I loved her,
When your mother took my name long, long ago.
She was sweeter than the blossoms on a clover,
She was fairer than the evening's sunset glow;
But I never will forget how much I loved her,
When your mother took my name long, long ago.
When your mother took my name long, long ago.
