Lily Dale

AUNER’S PRINTING OFFICE, 110 N. TENTH ST., ab. ARCH.

Lily Dale.

’Twas on a calm still night,
When the moon’s pale light
Shone o’er hill and vale,
When friends mute with grief,
Stood around the death-bed
Of my poor lost Lily Dale.

Her cheeks that once glowed
With the rose tint of health,
By the hand of disease had turned pale,
And the death damp
Was on the pure white brow
Of my poor lost Lily Dale.

I’ll go, she said,
To the land of rest,
And ere my strength shall fail,
I must tell you where,
Near my own loved home,
You must lay poor Lily Dale.

’Neath the Chestnut tree
Where the wild flowers grow,
And the stream ripples forth thro’ the vale,
Where the wild birds shall warble
Their songs in spring,
There lays poor Lily Dale.

A. W. AUNER, SONG PUBLISHER, 110 North 10th St, ab. Arch, Philadelphia.

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