This handwritten song was found in old family papers and marked Joseph Franklin Thompson. Whether it is an original composition or a transposition of a published poem or song, we have no way of
knowing. It can be found recorded by different gospel singers today with the
notation that the music is in the “public domain”. I’ve been
unable to determine when it first appeared, although a more thorough search would probably reveal that fact. The version as
published today is:
THE OLD CHURCH YARD
Oh come, come with me to the old church yard
I well know the path thro' the soft green sward
Friends slumber there, we were won't to regard
We'll
trace out their names, in the old church yard
Oh, mourn not for them, their grief is o'er
Weep not for them, they weep no more
For deep is their sleep, tho' cold and hard
Their pillows may be in the old church yard
I know it seems vain, when friends depart
To breath kind words to the broken heart
I know that the joys of life seem marred
When we follow our friends to the old church yard
But were I at rest, beneath yon tree
Why should you weep, dear friends, for me?
I'm wayworn and sad, o, why then retard
The rest that I seek in the old church yard
Oh, weep not for me, I am anxious to go
To that haven of rest where tears never flow
I fear not to enter that dark lonely ward
For soon shall I rise from the old church yard
Yes, soon shall I join that heavenly band
Of glorified souls at my saviors right hand
Forever to dwell in bright mansions prepared
For saints, who shall rise from the old church yard
Below is the Reverand Joseph Franklin Thompson version:
THE OLD CHURCH
YARD
Oh come, come with me to the old church yard
I we'll know the path through the soft greensward
Friends slumber there we were wont to regard
We'll trace out their names in the old church yard
Oh mourn not them for their grief is o’er
Weep not for them they weep no more
For deep is their sleep though cold and hard
Their pillow may be in the old church yard
I know it seames vane when friends depart
To breathe kind words to the broken hart
I know that the joys of life seams mared
When we follow our friends to the old church yard
But were I at rest beneath yon tree
Why should you weep dear friends for me
I’m wayworn and sad oh why then retard
The rest that I seek in the old church yard
And our friends linger there in sweetest repose
Relieved from the worlds sad bereavements and woe
And who would not rest with the friends they regard
In quietude sweet in the old church yard
Well rest in the hope of that bright day
When beauty shall spring from the person of clay
When gabrels voice and the triumph of the lord
Shall awaken the dead in the old church yard
Oh weep not for me I am anxious to go
To that heaven of rest where tears never flow
I fear not to enter that dark lonely ward
For soon shall I rise from the old church yard
Yes soon shall I join with the heavenly band
Of glorified saints at my saviors right hand
Forever to dwell in bright mansions prepared
For saints who shall rise from the old church yard