Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay, Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away, Gone from the earth to a better land I know, I hear their gentle voices calling "Old Black Joe".

Why do I sigh that my friends come not again, Grieving for forms now departed long ago?

I hear their gentle voices calling "Old Black Joe".

The children so dear that I held upon my knee, Gone to the shore where my soul has longed to go.

I hear their gentle voices calling "Old Black Joe".