Little footsteps, soft and gentle,
Gliding by our cottage door,
How I love to hear their trample,
As I heard in days of yore.
Tiny feet that traveled lightly
In this weary world of woe,
Now silent in yonder churchyard,
Neath the dismal grave below.
Little footsteps, soft and gentle,
Gliding by our cottage door,
How I love to hear their trample,
As I heard in days of yore.
Tiny feet that traveled lightly
In this weary world of woe,
Now silent in yonder churchyard,
Neath the dismal grave below.