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 is the spirit of Kentucky Rose
They say it is the spirit of Kentucky Rose 
I believe it is the spirit of Kentucky Rose