Ozarks Folksong

This is a song I first heard by George Edgin’s Corn Dodgers but I’ve come across a few different renditions by now and here I add my own.

There’s a place that’s far away
in a little mound of clay
that recalls to me the days of long ago.
When I sat on Mama’s knee
and she’d talk and sing to me
How I loved her voice and accent, sweet and low.
Oh her love will always linger
I can see her day by day
as she sat there in that little cabin home.
Though the house has blowed away
and them fields are dead and gray
I just can’t forget my Ozark Mountain home.

     I will bow my head in sorrow
     for I know we’ll meet tomorrow
     in that little mound of clay there in the hills.
     I’m going back and build a shack
     by that little mound of clay.
     I’m moving back and I’ll build a shack
     in them Ozark hills far away.

Oh her life sweet to me
just as sweet as sweet could be
and her aching heart was always filled with pain.
From her little mound of clay
she would guide me day by day
and I’d never roam the distance widths again.
In words that live forever
she would bind me not to never
take advantage of the people’s love and pain
Though we all may be the same
we will all live on in name
til we meet there in the shadow of the clay.

     I will bow my head in sorrow
     for I know we’ll meet tomorrow
     in that little mound of clay there in the hills.
     I’m going back and build a shack
     by that little mound of clay.
     I’m moving back and I’ll build a shack
     in them Ozark hills far away.

The Traveler

Traveler haste, the night comes on
Many a shining hour is gone
A storm is gathering in the west
And you are so far from home

Oh come, Traveler, haste away
You must walk while it is day
Oh come, Traveler, haste away
You will find in Christ the way

Far from home, thy foosteps stray
Christ the life and Christ the way
Christ the light, yon setting sun
‘Er the noon has scarce begun

Oh come, Traveler, haste away
You must walk while it is day
Oh come, Traveler, haste away
You will find in Christ the way

Rising tempest sweeps the sky
The rains descend, the winds are high
The waters swell in death and fear
Sets thy path, no refuge here

Oh come, Traveler, haste away
You must walk while it is day
Oh come, Traveler, haste away
You will find in Christ the way

Hear the Nightingale Sing

This is one I learned very recently and I honestly know very little about it.  I wish I had some insight to share on it.  Hopefully I’ll be able to find some good information about it soon and I’ll update this post.

One morning, one morning, one morning in May
I met a fair couple just making their way
One was a lady, a lady was she
The other was a soldier, a brave man was he

Well, where are you going this beautiful day?
I’m going to the river to the cold water spring
Down to the river to the cold water spring
To see the water glide ‘n hear the nightingale sing

Oh now, said the lady, I’m lonesome and blue
And I can tell by your actions that you’re lonesome, too
We’ll go down together to that great spring
To see the water glide ‘n hear the nightingale sing

They hadn’t been there more’n an hour or two
When all out the satchel, a fiddle he drew
He played on that fiddle ‘til the valleys did ring
Hark, hark said the lady, hear the nightingale sing

Well now, says the soldier, I’m better to go
Oh no, says the lady, just play one tune more
I’d rather hear the fiddle, just tap on the strings
And see the water glide ‘n hear the nightingale sing

He tune up his fiddle in a higher a’key
Played The Shamrock of Erin and he played it so free
Played The Shamrock of Erin ‘til the valleys did ring
To see the water glide ‘n hear the nightingale sing

Oh now, says the lady, will you marry me?
Oh no, says the soldier, that never can be
I have a wife in Missouri and my children, have three
Two women and the Army’s too many for me

I’ll go back to London and I’ll stay three long years
Instead of cold water drink port, wine, and beers
And if ever I return, it’ll be in the Spring
To see the water glide ‘n hear the nightingale sing 

Poor Wayfaring Stranger

This is a song called Poor Wayfaring Stranger, it’s certainly not indigenous to the Ozarks but I’d heard a version out of Mountain View, AR and recorded it.  It’s one I had played more than a few times in bluegrass circles but this version was quite a bit different. 

     I am a poor wayfaring stranger
     I’m traveling through this world alone
     But neither sadness, no toil or danger
     Can follow in that land to which I go.

          I’m going there to see my Father
          Well I’m going there no more to roam
          I’m just going over Jordan
          I’m just going over home

     I know dark clouds they will gather
     I know my path is rough and steep
     But golden fields lie out before me
     If God redeems his vision keep

          Well, I’m going there to see my Mother
          She said she’d meet me when I come
          I’m just going over Jordan
          At the barrel of a gun

     I’ll soon be free from earthly trials
     My form will rest beneath the sod
     I’ll drop the cross of self-denial
     And I’ll enter in my home with God

          I’m going there to see my Savior
          The one who shed his blood for me
          I’m just going over Jordan
          Jordan’s blowing over me

          I’m going there to see my Savior
          I’m going there no more to roam
          I’m just going over Jordan
          I’m just going over home
          I’m just going over home
          I’m just going over home