Old Black Joe
(Stephen C. Foster)
Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay
Gone are the toils of the cotton fields away
Gone to the fields of a better land I know
I hear those gentle voices calling, "Old Black Joe"
I'm coming, I'm coming
For my head is bending low
I hear those gentle voices calling, "Old Black Joe"
I'm coming home (I'm coming home)
I'm coming home (I'm coming home)
Oh-oh my head is bending low
I hear those gentle voices calling, "Old Black Joe"
Old Black Joe, Old Black Joe, Old Black Joe
Why do I weep when my heart should feel no pain?
Why do I sigh that my friends come not again?
Grieving for forms now departed long ago
I hear their gentle voice calling, "Old Black Joe"
Where are the hearts once so happy and free?
The children so dear that I held upon my knee?
Gone to the shore where my soul has long'd to go
I hear their gentle voice calling, "Old Black Joe"
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