They tell me papa that tonight

You'll wed another bride,

And you will clasp her in your arms

Where my dear mama died.

And she will lay her graceful head,

Upon your manly chest

Where she who now lies low in death

In life's last hours did rest.

Her name is Mary too, they say;

The name my mother wore.

Oh papa is she kind and true

Like the one you loved before.

And is her footstep soft and low,

Her voice so sweet and mild.

And papa will she love me too,

Your blind and helpless child.

Here papa do not bid me come

To meet your new made bride.

I could not meet her in the room

Where my dear mama died.

Her picture's hanging on the wall.

Her books are lying there.

Here's the harp her fingers played,

And there's her vacant chair.

A chair by which I used to kneel

To say my evening prayer.

Oh pa it almost breaks my heart;

I could not meet her there.

And as I cry myself to sleep,

As now I often do,

Then softly to my chamber creep

My new-made mama and you.

Please bid her gently press a kiss

Upon my throbbing brow,

Just as my own dear mama did.

Oh, pa, you're weeping now.

So I'll just kneel beside my bed,

And to my Savior pray.

That God's right hand will lead you both

Through life's long weary way."

A prayer was offered; then a song.

"I'm weary now," she said.

Her father raised her in his arms

And laid her on the bed.

And as he turned to leave the room,

One joyful cry was giv'n.

He turned and caught the last bright smile.

His blind child was in heav'n.

They laid her by her mother's side,

And raised a marble fair.

On it engraved those simple words,

"There'll be no blind ones there."

Such a beautiful song.  I hardly remember a song fest when dad didn't sing it.  It was one of my favorites.  Who am I kidding, they're all my favorites.