Sun comes up - Sunday morn

On the little church where I been since I was born

And there he stood - a hearty smile

You could hear his voice ringing out for a country mile



And he could place your mind at ease

With his tenderness and a heart

That aimed to please

A pauper's hands - a farmer's clothes

Just a preacher man we called Kentucky rose



He worked the soul like he worked the land

He spoke in ways that anyone could understand

Simple words of simple faith

And when it came to love

He would go out of his way

A helping hand

A soothing chat

And he practiced what he preached - imagine that

And as far as kindness goes

There was none compared to old Kentucky rose



Evening stroll 'cross Shyler's bridge

That's when he saw the boy

Trapped below that rocky ridge

He knew the danger he would face

But it's as if he saved the child

Only to take his place



For on that ridge of stone and ice

Kentucky met his maker in a sacrifice

Why he's gone

God only knows

Maybe for the company of his Kentucky rose



So peaceful in his Sunday best

He was buried on a hill and laid to rest

When people heard they came in droves

To say their last good-byes to sweet Kentucky rose



Now, on that hill

One flower grows

They say it's the spirit of Kentucky rose...