Where she's sleeping now the whippoorwill is calling
O'er her grave the flowers are blooming fair and bright
Pearly dewdrops on the ivy leaves are falling
Where the whippoorwill is whisperin' goodnight
Round that door the same old ivy vine is clinging
Now sweet daisies in the meadow are in bloom
In the treetops I can hear those night-birds singing
But the old homestead is wrapped in silent gloom
By the fireside one familiar face is missing
That tender smile no longer greets my sight
In that quaint old-fashioned home tonight I'm listening
Where the whippoorwill is whispering goodnight