Now some love to visit far distant lands. Some go to Paris and Rome, But the spot I love best and I'm longing to see, Is my own little sweet village home; It was there many times I played when a boy: And there's where I always could stop. To see the old black-smith display his great powers, In the old village Black-smith Shop.
Cho. - Oh! bang, bang, bang, goes the hammer on the anvil, All day long at the door I'd stop, List'ning to the music made by honest toil, In the old village black-smith shop
When I was a boy my companions and I, Would stand by the old smithy's fire; And gaze on the black-smith with wonder and awe, At his wonderful sinewy power, It was then the old man would turn round and smile; And then from his work he would stop. To play with us lads, as if he were our dad, In the old village Black-smith Shop.
Oh, often I think of those days long gone by, When to the old smithy I'd go; To assist the old man, on a box I would stand, And with pleasure his bellows would blow; But the old man has gone to his last resting place; No more at the door shall I stop. To see the sparks fly from the fire to the sky, In the old village Black-smith Shop.
P. J. Dennis, 455 N. Gay Street, Baltimore, Md.
Publisher of American, Irish, Dutch, Sailor, Soldier, Negro, Comic, Humorous, College, Sentimental, Social and Religious, Choice Selected Standard Songs.
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