‘If I could sing for you my song, Some angel's tongue to borrow, I'd sing for you the whole night long, Sweet baby of my sorrow
For you were just a mother's child, As fair as any other; A friend to me you might have been, If only to your mother
But he who tore the threads of life That God's own hand was weaving, He took his pay and washed his knife, Nor for his crime was grieving
Oh, life is sweet when love is kind, But they did not revere it; The ground in grief and anger cried, But heav'n alone would hear it
Too small to run, too weak to fight, Too young to know a warning, Like thieves they caught you in the night, And stole away the morning
Who could conceive this dark design? My heart, it fails within me; I wish to God you had been mine, If one among so many
Then sleep in silence, little one, The dawn was nearly breaking; But cruel hands put out the sun, And never you'll be waking’
