NEXT SUNDAY AT NINE OR "DEARIE WON'T YOU CALL ME DEARIE"
(Evan Lloyd,   1912)


Hello dearie my how sweet you look today 
Face so fair, golden hair bonnet trimmed with roses. 
Golden sun beams, on your face just love to play, 
And your eyes can't disguise love light oft' reposes; 
Wonder if you knew 
That I'm so proud of you.

Dream days always since you named the wedding day, 
All so bright, hearts so light for our honeymooning. 
Orange blossoms, for the bride along the way, 
Roses too just for you 'Round the door a blooming; 
Honey can't you see 
You're all the world to me.

Dearie won't you call me dearie, 
'Cause it's drawing "nearie" to our wedding day 
Next Sunday Dearie don't you let us tarry 
you and I to marry In the Summer time 
And the same old chimes 
We have heard many times 
And next Sunday at nine
You'll forever be mine.