by Stephen Collins Foster (1826 - 1864)

Tell me of the angels, mother
Language: English 
Tell me of the angels, mother, 
And the radiant land 
Where my gentle little brother 
Joined their happy band; 

Oh! I seem to hear their voices 
When the night draws near, 
And my gladdened soul rejoices 
At their accents clear. 

Tell em of the angels, mother, 
When God bids us come 
Shall we dwell with one another 
In their starry home; 

Shall we join the tuneful chorus 
Far from all alarms, 
With no gloomy shadows o'er us 
In the Saviour's arms. 

Tell em of the angels, mother, 
Crowned with chaplets bright, 
Singing hymns that sorrow smother 
On their wings of light; 

Oh! I long to see them, mother, 
And I long to fly 
To my dear departed brother 
In the azure sky.


Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Researcher for this text: Laura Prichard [Guest Editor]

This text was added to the website: 2015-12-26
Line count: 24
Word count: 122