There are six sorrows in my heart—
Red Allen, Clare, and Joan,
Sweet Bet, and Jock, and little Roy;
Six sorrows all my own.

Red Allen was my first-born son,
How dear he was to see,
The first sweet babe—and now he lies
Beneath the church-yard tree.

My little Clare, and pretty Joan,
Sleep, too, in wind and rain,
But never do I wake at night
To wish them home again.
Oh, never do I wake at night
To call them home again.

I have three sorrows in my breast
To drown my heart in tears,
My Betty, Jock, and little Roy,
To shade my waning years.

My sunshine Bet, she made her choice—
A good man he, and true;
And 'neath my fond contented eyes
Their pretty courtship grew.

When, from the winding road, a foot
Stole by my garden gate,
And by my door a honey voice
Did whisper long and late.

And oft a cloth of lavender
Young pedlar John would bear,
And oft a silken ribbon long
To bind my child's soft hair.

Oh, bitter was the secret shame
He hid beneath his load,
My sunshine Bet is far away
Upon the gypsies' road.
My pretty Bet has strayed away
Upon the winding road.

I have two sorrows in my heart,
To wear me night and day—
My Jock, and little Roy, who runs
Beside my knee at play.

My six-foot Jock, in all the town
No lad was like to him,
What mother's heart could hold my pride
Though joy my eyes would dim.

Then I could weep but happy tears,
They soothe not now my grief,
The burning anguish of my heart
Has quenched that font's relief.

One morn his brow on me did frown,
His ready laugh grew still,
Full late it was when he came home,
In silence from the hill.

'Where have you been, my son so dear,
So long, so late!' I cried,
'To seek a little lamb who strayed
Upon the bleak hill-side.'

'What dyes so red, my child, my son,
The plaid about your breast?'
''Tis where the wounded lamb did lie,
And here its heart-beat pressed.'

'There come four men about the gate,
Their looks are stern and cold?'
'They do but seek the little lamb
That died beyond the fold.'

'Then I shall make the window fast,
And I shall bar the door;
Oh, fear is bitter at my heart,
And I can bear no more.'

'You may not bar the oaken door,
Nor make the window fast;
But you shall pray for my lost soul,
As long as life shall last.'

'For I must go with those who wait
About the door with me,
Since I have slain my own false love
Beneath the linden tree.
Oh, I have slain my faithless love,
Beneath the linden tree.'

I have one sorrow in my heart,
My Roy, who sleeps so sound.
Oh, will the wide world call this babe,
Or holds the grave his shroud?
Oh, shall I grieve his golden youth,
Or weep him in his shroud?

I have six sorrows in my heart,
Red Allen, Clare, and Joan,
Sweet Bet, and Jock, and little Roy—
Six sorrows all my own.