Autumn evenings in the gloaming
Lovers hand in hand are roaming,
He's been telling her the same old story o'er,
They have watched the sunset's splendor,
Whisp'ring love words low and tender,
And they vow to faithful be forevermore.
Then their eyes to heaven lifting, 
They see banks of clouds go drifting,
Through the fading sunlight sifting
Far across the western sky;
As the clouds in groups assemble,
Well-known objects they resemble,
And the maiden tells him as she points on high.
Chorus
   That cloud's the "Old man of the mountain,"
   You can see him so plain if you try,
   Look love, there's a beautiful fountain,
   And a cloud like a swan floating by,
   There's the anvil of our village blacksmith,
   There's an Angel with wings spread on high,
   When the blue turns to gold, 
   Both the young and the old
   See cloud-faces in the sky.

Many years ago they parted
And the maiden, broken-hearted,
She is sleeping in the valley all alone,
While the evening bells were pealing,
At her grave an old man kneeling,
Sobbing, kissed the name of Mary on the stone.
"It was all my fault" he's moaning,
And he kneels there in the gloaming,
And he dreams once more they're roaming
'Mid the flowers at eventide,
Look; the west is filled with glory,
Golden clouds bring back the story,
That she told him as they stood there side by side
Chorus:
   That cloud's the . . . etc.