Fred Buckly - I Shouldn't Like to Tell

'Twas early in the spring time
When birds begin to mate
When first I met young Ed-ward Brown
By the garden gate
Upon the evening's stillness
his voice so sweet-ly fell
The morning words he whispers
I should'nt like to tell.
In many a summer toiling
We stop together there
And oh the bright love ever
To me seem'd half so fair.

The batton beats, the lights are gone,
The camp around in slumber lies,
The night with solemn pace moves on,
And sad uneasy thoughts arise,
O think of thee, Oh, dearest one
Where love my only life hath blest,
Of thee, and him our ba-by son,
Who slumbers on thy gentle breast,
Who slumbers on thy gentle breast.