To
Miss Libbie Hixson,
Pontiac, Mich.
"The
Whippoorwill" (1872)
Song & Chorus
Words by
Thomas Gregg.
Music by
M. H. McChesney

Detroit, MI: C. J. WHITNEY & Co., 197 Jefferson Ave.
[Source: 1872-02437@LoC;
Note: copyright 1872 on Cover Page;
copyright 1871 on Title Page]

[NOTE: the spelling throughout the VERSEs
and CHORUS of "whippoorwill" is consistently
mis-spelled "whipporwill" and left as is.]

1. The sun has sunk beneath the west,
And dark the shadows fall:
I’ll seek again my forest home,
And make my evening call,
The zephyr in the grove is hushed,
And every leaf is still,
So I will seek my wild retreat
And chant my whippowill.

CHORUS [sung after each VERSE]
[With overlapping voices]
[Soprano]
Whippowill, whippowill, whilpowill,
whippowill, whilpowill, whilpowill,
whilpowill, whippowil, whippowill,
whippowill, whippowill,
So I will seek my wild retreat,
And chant my whippowill.
[Alto, Tenor, Bass]
Hear the call from yonder hill,
Echo through the forest still,
Each soft note the pulses thrill;
Sing on, plaintive whippowill,
Hear the call from yonder hill
Echo through the foeest still.
Haste and seek your wild retreat,
And chant you whippowill.

Hear the call from yonder hill,
Echo through the forest still,
Each soft note the pulses thrill;
Sing on, plaintive whippowill,
Hear the call from yonder hill
Echo through the foeest still.
Haste and seek your wild retreat,
And chant you whippowill.

Hear the call from yonder hill,
Echo through the forest still,
Each soft note the pulses thrill;
Sing on, plaintive whippowill,
Hear the call from yonder hill
Echo through the foeest still.
Haste and seek your wild retreat,
And chant you whippowill.

2. Dim night with sablemantle spread
Envelops field and flood,
And stars with pale and yellow light
Shine out  on  vale and wood,
My mate too,  has begun but strain
Upon yon distant hill;
And I will ssek my leafy bow’r
And tune my whippowill.

3. The watchdog has retired to rest;
The curfew’s toll is done;
No sound is heard in these deep shades,
Save my shrill voice alone,
Or in yon wild and lonely glen,
The tinkling of a rill;
So in these peaceful solitudes
I’ll chant my whippowill.

4. It is th song which God has given—
I’ll sing  it in his praise;
Of all within this forest bower,
Mine are the sweetest lays,
Then whippowill shall  be my song
In vale or on the hill,
Each evening at the twilight hour,
I’ll tune my whippowill.