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." I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low I hear their gentle voices calling "Old Black Joe." Why do I weep, when my heart should feel no pain 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." Where are the hearts once so happy and so free? 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."