Don'T You Cry
Well, my mother, she lay sick in bed;
And I can hear the words she said:
Don't you cry little boy,
Don't you cry little boy,
The Lord is near
Well, the doctor said he give her a weak;
Because she is so very week.
Don't you cry little boy,
Don't you cry little boy,
The Lord is here.
Well, my father, he lay dying in bed;
And I can hear the words he said:
Don't you cry little girl,
Don't you cry little girl,
The Lord is near.
The day has come and he's with me no more;
With wings in Heaven he will soar.
Don't you cry little girl,
Don't you cry little girl,
The Lord is here.
Well, our baby brother lay in his crib;
And these are the words we said:
Don't you cry little baby,
Don't you cry little baby,
The Lord is near.
He struggles for breath and cannot rest;
His hearts beats hard on his chest.
Don't you cry little baby,
Don't you cry little baby,
The Lord is here.
Don't you cry little children,
Don't you cry little children,
I, the Lord, am near.
Don't you cry little children,
Don't you cry little children,
I, the Lord, am here.
Copyright © Isaiah Powell | Year Posted 2014
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