'Twas in a park beneath a tree,
Upon a rustic seat;
The evenings when the sun was low,
Edith and I would meet.

'Twas on this seat, three years ago,
I gently took her hand;
And gazed into her smiling face,
No sweeter in the land.

But now she's dead and passed away,
And I from labor stroll;
I find no one to meet me there,
I have no hand to hold.

But some sweet day when work is done,
I'll seek another place;
Where I'll again take Edith's hand,
And see her smiling face.

Roll 'round sweet days and bear me up,
Unto my home above;
Where I'll again see Edith's face,
And rest with her my love.