Michael W. Smith – Kentucky Rose (Guitar)

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Sun comes up - sunday morn

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On the little church where I been since I was born

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And there he stood - a hearty smile

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You could hear his voice ringing out for a country mile

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And he could place your mind at ease

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With his tenderness and a heart that aimed to please

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A pauper’s hands - a farmer’s clothes

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Just a preacher man we called Kentucky Rose

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He worked the soul like he worked the land

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He spoke in ways that anyone could understand

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Simple words of simple faith

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And when it came to love, he would go out of his way

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A helping hand - a soothing chat

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And he practiced what he preached - imagine that

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And as far as kindness goes

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There was none compared to old Kentucky Rose

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Evening stroll ’cross shyler’s bridge

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That’s when he saw the boy trapped below that rocky ridge

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He knew the danger he would face

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But it’s as if he saved the child only to take his place

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For on that ridge of stone and ice

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Kentucky met his maker in a sacri fice

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Why he’s gone, God only knows

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Maybe for the company of his Kentucky Rose

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So peaceful in his sunday best

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He was buried on a hill and laid to rest

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When people heard they came in droves

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To say their last goodbyes to sweet Kentucky Rose

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Now, on that hill one flower grows

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They say it is the spirit of Kentucky Rose

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They say it is the spirit of Kentucky Rose

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I believe it is the spirit of…  Kentucky Rose…