|This, by the way, is Joseph Philbrick Webster.|
He composed over 1000 songs. "Lorena" was the most popular.
The years creep slowly by, Lorena, The snow is on the grass again, The sun's low down the sky, Lorena, The frost gleams where the flow'rs have been. But the heart throbs on as warmly now, As when the summer days were nigh; Oh! the sun can never dip so low, Adown affection's cloudless sky. The sun can never dip so low, Adown affection's cloudless sky. A hundred months have pass'd Lorena, Since I last held that hand in mine, And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena, Tho' mine beat faster far than thine. A hundred months, -- 'twas flow'ry May, When up the hilly slope we climbed, To watch the dying of the day, And hear the distant churchbells chimed. To watch the dying of the day, And hear the distant churchbells chimed. We loved each other then Lorena, More than we've dared to tell; And what we might have been, Lorena, Had but our lovings prospered well -- But then, 'tis past -- the years are gone, I'll not call up their shadowy forms, I'll say to them, "lost years, sleep on! Sleep on! nor heed, life's pelting storm." I'll say to them, "lost years sleep on! Sleep on! nor heed, life's pelting storm." The story of that past, Lorena, Alas! I care not to repeat, The hopes that could not last, Lorena, They lived, but only lived to cheat. I would not cause e'en one regret To wrangle in your bosom now; For "if we try we _try_, we may forget," Were words of thine long years ago. For "if we try we _try_, we may forget," Were words of thine long years ago. Yes, these were words of thine, Lorena, They burn within my memory yet; They touched some tender chords, Lorena, Which thrill and tremble with regret. 'Twas not thy woman's heart that spoke; Thy heart was always true to me: -- A _duty_ stern and pressing, broke The tie which linked my soul with thee. It matters little now, Lorena, The past -- is in the eternal Past, Our heads will soon lie low, Lorena, Life's tide is ebbing out so fast. There is a Future! O thank God, Of life this is so small a part! 'Tis dust to dust beneath the sod; But there, _up there_, 'tis heart to heart.