THE FUNERAL

Recorded by Hank Williams, Sr.

Writer: Fred Rose

I was walking in Savannah past a church, decayed and dim

When slowly through the window came a plaintive funeral hymn

And my sympathy awakened and a wonder quickly grew

'Til I found myself envired in a little colored pew.

Out front a colored couple sat in sorrow, nearly wild

On the altar was a casket and in the casket was a child

I could picture him while livin', curly hair, protuding lips

I'd seen perhaps a thousand in my hurried southern trips.

Rose a sad, old colored preacher from his little wooden desk

With a manner sorta awkward, and countenance grotesque

The simplicity and shrewdness in his Eithopian face

Showed the wisdom and ignorance of a crushed, undying race.

And he said, "Now don't be weepin' for this pretty bit of clay

For the little boy who lived there has done gone and run away

He was doin' very finely and he appreciates your love

But his shore 'nuff Father wanted him in the big house up above.

The Lord didn't give you that baby, by no hundred thousand miles

He just thought you need some sunshine, and He lent it for awhile

And He let you keep and love it 'til your hearts were bigger grown

And these silver tears you're sheddin' now is just interest on the loan.

Just think, my poor dear mourners, creepin' 'long on sorrows life's way

What a blessed picnic this here baby got today

Your good fathers and good mothers crowd the little fellow 'round

In the Angel's tender garden of the big plantation ground.

And his eyes they brightly sparkle at the pretty things he viewed

But a tear came, and he whispered, 'I want my parents, too'

But then the Angel's chief musicians teach that little boy a song

Says if only they be faithful they'll soon be comin' 'long.

So, my poor detached mourners, let your hearts with Jesus rest

And don't go to criticizin' the One what knows the best

He has give us many comforts, He's got the right to take away

To the Lord be praised in glory, forever, let us pray."