The morn of life is past,And ev'ning comes at last;
It brings me a dream of a once happy day,
Of merry forms I've seen
Upon the village green,
Sporting with my old dog Chey.
Old dog Chey's ever faithful;
Grief cannot drive her away;
She's gentle, she is kind,
I'll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Chey.
When thoughts recall the past,
Her eyes are on me cast,
I know that she feels what my breaking heart would say;
Although she cannot speak,
I'll vainly, vainly seek
A better friend than old dog Chey.
(by Stephen Foster)
