Julia A. Moore

The Sweet Singer of Michigan


LITTLE MINNIE

      AIR --
  • "In the Cottage by the Sea"

    Come listen to a painful story
          A mother is going to tell,
    For her heart is over-flowing
          For that one she loved so well.
    It's of a little infant daughter,
          Mild and lovely, bright and fair --
    She has left this world forever,
          Left this world of grief and care.


                Chorus --

          Alone, all alone
    In the grave yard she is sleeping,
          That little one we loved so well --
    God her little soul is keeping,
          For he doeth all things well.

    Oh! how sadly we'll remember,
          On a bright and pleasant day --
    It was the very last of summer
          That her spirit fled away;
    Fled away from earth forever,
          Gone to dwell with Him above,
    Where little angels dwell together
          In His everlasting love.

    Oh! we miss our little Minnie,
          With blue eyes and flaxen hair --
    Oh, we loved our little Minnie,
          And we miss her every where;
    Yes, we miss her at the table
          Every morning, noon and night,
    While she sat with us together,
          For she was our heart's delight.

    On the twenty-fifth of August,
          Eighteen hundred and seventy-three,
    God he called her then to leave us,
          And a parting had to be.
    As the day it was declining,
          The sun was down behind the trees,
    Little Minnie she was dying,
          Her little soul it had to leave.

    Left this world of earthly trouble
          And her friends that loved her dear,
    Father, mother, sister, brother,
          Her place with them is vacant here.
    Her little soul is at rest forever
          In our Father's heavenly home,
    Her little form is sweetly sleeping
          In the cold and silent tomb.

    Oh! she was our eldest daughter,
          She was handsome to behold --
    Every one that knew her loved her,
          And her age was four years old.
    And we miss her merry laughter,
          Through the house she used to roam --
    That little one, we'll not forget her
          In our dear and loving home.

    Oh! how oft-times we have kissed her
          And caressed her little form --
    God of heaven knows we loved her
          From the day that she was born.
    On a day of independence,
          Eighteen hundred and sixty-nine,
    God he gave to us a present
          Of that little girl so fine.


  • Reprinted from The Sweet Singer of Michigan: Poems by Mrs. Julia A. Moore, ed. Walter Blair (Chicago: Pascal Covici, 1928).
    Note: In stanza 1 I have corrected Blair's reading, "She hsa left" to "She has left".
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