Various

??? Heart’s Tonight in Texas

In the distant State of Texas, by the silv’ry
Rio Grande,
A couple strolled one evening, two sweethearts,
hand in hand:
‘Twas the ranchman’s pretty daughter
And the lad she loved so dear.
On the morrow they must part
For many, many a year.
To Europe she was going
To become a lady grand,
Where her father hoped some Earl or Count
she’d wed.
So she went away next morning,
But her heart was true to Jack.
Then one day a letter came, and thus he read:

Chorus –
My heart’s tonight in Texas
Though I’m far across the sea;
The band is playing “Dixie,”
And it’s there I long to be;
Dad says some Earl I’ll marry,
But you shall have my hand,
For my heart’s tonight in Texas,
By the silv’ry Rio Grande.

At a stately ball in England
Stood the Texas lass one night;
The scene was one of splendor,
The lights were dazzling bright;
An Earl knelt there before her
Asking her to take his hand,
But her thoughts were by the silv’ry Rio Grande.
I can’t say “Yes,” she answered,
For I’d rather have my Jack,
I promised long ago a lad I’d some day wed,
So I can not take your title,
For I’d rather have my Jack.
‘Twas only yesterday I wrote and said:

I am sending in the songs some one asked for.
I have completed my freshman year in “high
school.” Every one should try to get an education
and to be of some service to their nation.
My age is 17. – CLEO ARMSTRONG, Cameron, Ok.

Blue Ridge Mountain Blues

When I was young and in my prime,
I left my home in Caroline;
Now all I do is sit and pine
For all the folks I left behind.

I’ve got those Blue Ridge Mountain Blues,
And I’ve been right;
Today my grip is packed to travel.
And now I’m scattering gravel
On the blue ridge far away,

I seem to hit the snowy white;
I see a window with a light;
I seem to hear those folks recite,
“Where is my wandering boy tonight?”

I’ve got those Blue Ridge Mountain Blues,
Where the sighing pine trees wave,
And now I’m going to wander
To the folks down yonder
On the Blue Ridge far away.

I know the day that I return
There’ll be a shindy in the barn;
People for miles around will form;
There’ll be some fiddlers in the barn.

I’ve got those Blue Ridge Mountain Blues,
And I can hear those hound dogs bay,
And every day I’ll be counting till
I’ve found those mountains,
On the Blue Ridge far away.

I’m going to do right by my walk;
I’m gonna do right by my talk,
I’ll hang around the cabin door,
No work, no worry any more.

I’ve got those Blue Ridge Mountain Blues;
Gonnna hear my old dog bay;
We’re gonna hunt the possum,
Where the thorn top blossom,
On the Blue Ridge far away.

My age is 15. – PAULINE ARMSTRONG, Cameron, Ok.

Before the Ceremony.

Here, girls! Pin my veil up a little,
And see if my train is all right,
I wish I’d a little more color:
I look like a ghost all in white.

I wonder when Charlie is coming!
I hope that he will not be late,
I want everyone to be ready
To go down precisely at eight.

Oh, dear! how I wish it was over,
I feel a bit nervous I own;
Do, girls: go and see about Charlie –
Don’t mind about leaving me hear alone.

They are gone and I am free for a moment!
And now I must burn up I know
This precious old package of letters,
The dear, loving ones of poor Joe.

O Joe! Oh my dead soldier lover!
So stern in your notions of right;
Do you, in your higher existence,
Turn from me in loathing tonight?

Oh, pity me; pity me, dearest!
For there where you fell on the plain,
Struck down on a flood-tide of glory,
The heart of my girlhood was slain!

And now I am plighted to Charlie!
It’ll brighten up my poor mother’s life,
And please her so. As for Charlie,
I will make him a dutiful wife,

But the future is dreary before me,
And I would in your grave in the West,
We two were this evening together.
Together forever at rest.

Who’s that? Oh, yes, Charlie, I’m ready;
One moment, dear, Just while I try
To button this glove. Now I’m coming.
Good-bye Joe, my dearest, good-bye.

Sent in by Pauline Armstrong, Cameron, Ok.

Received Twenty-Eight Letters.
I regret very much that I found it impossible
to answer all the letters I received after writing
to The Farm News. I received twenty-eight
letters all of which were interesting and appreciated
and you who wrote to me are returned
in kind thoughts. We have been taking The
Farm News as long as I can remember and
think it is a fine paper. Will some one please
send me the song “Lips That Touch Liquor
Shall Never Tough Mine.” My age is 18. Would
like to get letters from all who care to write.
Will answer all I can. All send photos who
can. If Lorene Johnson of Cooper, Texas, who
used to correspond with me sees this, please
write again. Good luck and best wishes to the
editor and readers – ADA GALLOWAY,
Tennessee Colony, Texas. Route 2.

Little Bessie.

Hug me closer, closer mother;
Put your arms around me tight,
For I’m cold and tired, mother.
And I feel so strange tonight;
Something hurts me here, dear mother,
Like a stone upon my heart.
And I wonder, wonder, mother,
Why it is a can not rest!

All the day while you were working,
As I lay upon my bed,
I was trying to be patient
And to think of what you said.
Then, before the lamps were lighted,
Just before the children came
When my rooms were very quiet,
I heard some one call my name.

“Come up here, my little Bessie;
Come up here and live with me,
Where no children ever suffer
Through a long eternity.”
Oh, I wonder, wonder, mother.
Who so bright upon me smiled!
But I knew it must be Jesus
When he whispered, “Come my child.”

Oh, at first I felt so sorry
He had called and I must go;
Go to sleep, no more to suffer
(Mother, don’t be crying so),
All at once the window opened,
In the fields were lambs and sheep;
Some from out the brook were drinking,
Others lying fast asleep.

There were little children singing;
Sweeter songs I never heard;
They were sweeter, mother, sweeter
Than the sweetest singing bird.
Hug me closer, closer, mother.
Put your arms around me tight.
Oh, how much I love you, mother,
And I feel so strange tonight!

Then her mother hugged her closer
To her ever-burning heart;
On her heart that near was breaking
Lay the head so near to rest;
In the solemn hour of midnight,
In the silence calm and deep,
Lying on her mother’s bosom,
Little Bessie fell asleep.

In the quiet little churchyard
There is now a new-made mound,
And the form that was so cherished
Has been laid beneath the ground.
But up yonder in the portals
That are shining very fair
Little Bessie will be sheltered
By the Savior’s loving care.

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