The world is full of gladness, There are joys of many kinds,
There's a cure for every sadness, That each troubled mortal finds.
And my little cares grow lighter And I cease to fret and sigh,
And my eyes with joy grow brighter When she makes a lemon pie.
When the bronze is on the filling That's one mass of shining gold,
And its molten joy is spilling On the plate, my heart grows
And the kids and I in chorus Raise one glad exultant
And we cheer the treat before us Which is mother's lemon pie.
Then the little troubles vanish, And the sorrows disappear,
Then we find the grit to banish All the cares that hovered near,
And we smack our lips in pleasure O'er a joy no coin can buy,
And we down the golden treasure Which is known as lemon pie.
This version taken from Just Folks by Edgar A
Published by The Reilly & Lee Co.,
Chicago,
Page 65
