And what care I for gold?
_Oh ... where is my lamb--
My one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?

In the great kitchen, maids and men,
--_Black is the night and cold_--
Laugh loud and long, with jest and song,
And merry revel hold.
Let them laugh and sing, let them have their fling,
But for me--I am growing old.
_Oh ... where is my lamb--
My one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?

The old house moans, and sighs and groans,
--_Black is the night and cold_--
We have seen brave times, you and I, old friend,
But now--we are growing old.
We have stood foursquare to many a storm,
But now--we are growing old.
_Oh ... where is my lamb--
My one ewe lamb--
That strayed from the fold_?

Her mother sleeps on the hill out there,
--_Black is the night and cold_,--
She is free from care, she is happier there,
Beneath the warm brown mould.
And I've sometimes hoped they may have met,