t's the curiousest thing in creation,
Whenever I hear that old song
Do They Miss Me at Home, I'm so bothered,
My life seems as short as it's long! --
Fer ev'rything 'pears like adzackly
It 'peared in the years past and gone,
When I started out sparkin', at twenty,
And had my first neckercher on!
Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer
Right now than my parents was then,
You strike up that song Do They Miss Me
And I'm jest a youngster again! --
I'm a-standin' back thare in the furries
A-wishin' fer evening to come,
And a-whisperin' over and over
Them words Do They Miss Me at Home?
You see, Marthy Ellen she sung it
The first time I heerd it; and so,
As she was my very first sweethart,
It reminds me of her, don't you know; --
How her face ust to look, in the twilight,
As I tuck her to Spellin'; and she
Kep' a-hummin' that song tel I ast her,
Pine-blank, ef she ever missed me!
I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it,
And hear her low answerin' words;
And then the glad chirp of the crickets,
As clear as the twitter of birds;
And the dust in the road is like velvet,
And the ragweed and fennel and grass
Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies
Of Eden of old, as we pass.
Do They Miss Me at Home? Sing it lower
And softer -- and sweet as the breeze
That powdered our path with the snowy
White bloom of the old locus'-trees!
Let the whipperwills he'p you to sing it,
And the echoes 'way over the hill,
Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus
Of stars, and our voices is still.
But oh! They's a chord in the music
That's missed when her voice is away!
Though I listen from midnight tel morning,
And dawn tel the dusk of the day!
And I grope through the dark, lookin' up'ards
And on through the heavenly dome,
With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin'
The words Do They Miss Me at Home?
t's the curiousest thing in creation,
