Upon A Rock Top


Upon yon nearest rock-top
Can you see a dwelling stands?
Ah, ‘tis the sweetest dwelling
Found in these mountain lands!

It holds the sweet est lady!
She is rich with golden hair,
Has clever, busy fingers,
Though so small and lily fair.

They wash, they starch, they broider,
They can spin, mix oaten cake,
And grind the white wheat finely
The dainty loaves to bake.

And when that sweetest lady
Shall be mine, my own to hold,
Ah, Earth to match her beauty
Will wear a crown of gold!