Save My Father’s Picture from the Sale

(From Wehman's Universal Songster Volume 27, at Traditionalmusic.co.uk)
Save My Father's Picture from the Sale
Words by Walter Burnot. Music by Sam Redfern.

Tis many years ago, in the time of frost and snow,
My poor old father felt ill and he died;
Though but a child then, for my age was scarcely ten,
They cast me friendless on the world aside;
My father went the pace all through life's busy race,
And when he died it was the same old tale-
For the little one bereft there was next to nothing left,
They even put his picture up for sale.

My father's face, his dear old face,
His loss I ever shall bewail;
Don't break an orphan's heart, from that don't bid me part,
Oh, save my father's picture from the sale.

In the auction-room they laugh'd, they bargain'd, and they chaff'd,
But I sat in the corner sad to mourn,
Whilst every relic old of my childhood's days they sold,
I felt as though my heart was racked and torn.
The chair on which he sat, and with me used to chat,
All passed away like chaff before the gale;
My heart beat fierce and fast, I was forced to say at last:
Oh, save my father's picture from the sale.

But the picture was passed round, and a bidder quickly found,
In a lovely little angel English girl,
With cheeks of rosy hue and eyes of heaven's blue,
Her head a mass of sunny, golden curls-
Even now for her I'd die-she whispered: "Do not cry,"
To joy she turned my sad and piteous wail,
She bought it, and for me, with happiness and glee,
She saved my father's picture from the sale.

From: Wehman's Universal Songster Volume 13  at Traditionalmusic.co.uk
SAVE MY MOTHER'S PICTURE FROM THE SALE.
Copyright, 1885, by Willis Woodward & Co.

I've been thinking of the day that has long since passed away,
When my mother thro' sickness drooped and died;
And the still and silent room when they laid her in the tomb,
I remember then how bitterly I cried.
I but a boy I was then, my age was scarcely ten.
And with sorrow I had grown thin and pale;
When the home had to be sold, I cried with grief untold.
Oh, save my mother's picture from the sale.
 
My mother's face, that dear old face,
Her loss I ever shall bewail;
Don't break an orphan's heart,
With that don't make me part,
Oh, save my mother's picture from the sale.

The auction day came round, with mirth the room did sound,
The things I loved so well soon passed away;
The chair in which she sat, and in which she liked to chat,
They all went into stranger's hands that day.
The table where I played, the cot in which I laid,
All passed away like chaff before the gale;
But when the end came near, I cried with piteous fear,
Oh, save my mother's picture from the sale.

The picture 'round was passed, and questions they were asked.
A price was bid for it just here and there;
The tears streamed down my face, I could scarce keep in the place,
When I saw the picture pass without a care.
But an angel of a girl, with a mass of golden curls,
Who was struck to see my face so sad and pale;
Out-bid them all you see, and presented it to me,
And saved my "mother's picture from the sale.