| By the mill stream sits the Miller’s pretty daughter |
| Her cheeks are like the first red rose of June |
| Her sweet voice sounds just like the rippling water |
| As so tenderly she hums an old love tune |
| But soon her song of joy has turned to sorrow |
| Her sweetheart now has come to say goodbye |
| She thinks of a sad and lonely morrow |
| And he hugs her as she murmers with a sigh |
| When the bees are in the hive and the honey in the comb |
| And the golden sunlight bends to kiss the dew |
| While the old mill wheel turns 'round I love you Mary |
| And when the bees are in the hive I’ll come to you |
| By the old mill sits the lonely maid repining |
| And her face was like the spring rose far away |
| While she looked down in the silver waters shining |
| And she sees her golden locks are dimmed with grey |
| Long years she’s waited there for his returning |
| All in vain she’s thinking he’ll come back someday |
| For the lamp of hope still in her heart is burning |
| As the old mill wheel turns 'round it seems to say |