TUTT Divine Treasury
By: Richard T. Gannon
"Kneeling At Home"
Email: Kneeling At Home
Music: "Old Folks At Home," by Stephen Foster (1826-64)
Lyric: Stephen Foster & Richard Gannon © 2000 TUTTgroup.com
| Old Folks At Home | Kneeling At Home | |
| Way down upon the Swanee River | Way down in grief and woe we suffer | |
| Far, far away, | To raise in praise; | |
| There’s where my heart is turning ever, | There’s where my heart is turning ever; | |
| There’s where the old folks stay. | There’s where my young Soul stays; | |
| All up and down the whole creation, | Lacking nothing in Mary's Pasture; | |
| Sadly I roam, | Trusting Her Rays; | |
| Still longing for the old plantation, | Longing to be brave, patient and pure; | |
| And for the old folks at home. Chorus. | Always in Her Grace and Gaze. Chorus. | |
| All ’round the little farm I wandered | All 'round The Crucifix we gathered | |
| When I was young, | When we were young; | |
| Then many happy days I squandered, | Great dazzling Visions were seen and heard; | |
| Many the songs I sung. | Many Rosaries sung; | |
| When I was playing with my brother | When we were praying for lost Lambs then; | |
| Happy was I. | Happy was I; | |
| Oh! take me to my kind old mother, | Oh! take us to The Crucifixion; | |
| There let me live and die. Chorus. | There let us live and die. Chorus. | |
| One little hut among the bushes, | One little scene among the Visions; | |
| One that I love, | One that I love; | |
| Still sadly to my mem’ry rushes | Still swiftly to my mem’ry rushes; | |
| No matter where I rove. | On God's Dove from above: | |
| When will I see the bees a-humming | We help Father and Thee a-sawing; | |
| Al ’round the comb? | We weren't yet grown; | |
| When will I hear the banjo strumming | And accompany Mother singing; | |
| Down in my good old home? Chorus. | Down in Thy Good Old Home. Chorus. | |
| Chorus: | Chorus: | |
| All the world is sad and dreary, | All the world is Hers already, | |
| Everywhere I roam, | Reigning from Cross Throne, | |
| Oh mammy, how my heart grows weary, | Oh Jesus, how my Soul sings of Mary | |
| Far from the old folks at home. | Dreaming, while kneeling at home. | |
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