Kentucky Rose

<br>Sun comes up - Sunday morn <br>On the little church where I been since I was born <br>And there he stood - a hearty smile <br>You could hear his voice ringing out for a country mile <br><br>And he could place your mind at ease <br>With his tenderness and a heart <br>That aimed to please <br>A pauper`s hands - a farmer`s clothes <br>Just a preacher man we called Kentucky rose <br><br>He worked the soul like he worked the land <br>He spoke in ways that anyone could understand <br>Simple words of simple faith <br>And when it came to love <br>He would go out of his way <br>A helping hand <br>A soothing chat <br>And he practiced what he preached - imagine that <br>And as far as kindness goes <br>There was none compared to old Kentucky rose <br><br>Evening stroll `cross Shyler`s bridge <br>That`s when he saw the boy <br>Trapped below that rocky ridge <br>He knew the danger he would face <br>But it`s as if he saved the child <br>Only to take his place <br><br>For on that ridge of stone and ice <br>Kentucky met his maker in a sacrifice <br>Why he`s gone <br>God only knows <br>Maybe for the company of his Kentucky rose <br><br>So peaceful in his Sunday best <br>He was buried on a hill and laid to rest <br>When people heard they came in droves <br>To say their last good-byes to sweet Kentucky rose <br><br>Now, on that hill <br>One flower grows <br>They say it`s the spirit of Kentucky rose...