Beautiful Rose

Off on the prairie, where the balmy air Kisses the waving corn, There lives a farmer, with a daughter fair-- Fair as a summer's morn! She has a nature gentle as a dove, Pure as the mountain snows; Say! is it strange that everyone should love-- Love such a girl as Rose? Beautiful Rose! lovely Rose! Pride of the prairie bower! Everybody loves her--everybody knows She is the fairest flower. Rose is a lady yet from early dawn, Labors her skillful hand; She is the housewife, now her mother's gone-- Gone to the better land. Rose has the beauty--father has the gold-- Both will be hers one day; For she is young, while he is growing old-- Old people pass away. Clerks from the city, plowmen from the field, Lords from a foreign land; Each in their turn have very humbly kneeled-- Kneeled for her heart and hand. But to them all she made the same reply-- Kindly but firmly, "No!" And none but I can tell the reason why-- Why she should treat them so.