Come Up From the Fields, Father lyrics

Kurt Weill

Come up from the fields, Father, here’s a letter from our Pete
And come to the front door Mother, here’s a letter from thy dear son

Lo, ’tis autumn
Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder
Cool and sweeten Ohio’s villages with leaves fluttering in the moderate wind
Where apples ripe in the orchards hang and grapes on the trellis’d vines

Above all, lo, the sky so calm, so transparent after the rain, and with wondrous clouds
Below too, all calm, all vital and beautiful, and the farm prospers well

Down in the fields all prospers well
But now from the fields come Father, come at the daughter’s call
And come to the entry Mother, to the front door come right away

Fast as she can she hurries, something ominous, her steps trembling
She does not tarry to smooth her hair nor adjust her cap

Open the envelope quickly
O this is not our son’s writing, yet his name is sign’d

O a strange hand writes for our dear son, O stricken mother’s soul!
All swims before her eyes, flashes with black, she catches the main words only;

Sentences broken, gunshot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish, taken to hospital
At present low, but will soon be better

Alas poor boy, he will never be better, (nor may-be needs to be better, that brave and simple soul,)

While they stand at home at the door he is dead already
The only son is dead

But the mother needs to be better
She with thin form presently dressed in black
By day her meals untouch’d, then at night fitfully sleeping, often waking
In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep longing
O that she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from life escape and withdraw
To follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son

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