From "I Sat on Her Grave and Sang" by Philip G. Hubert, Jr. in Belford's Monthly, Volume 3, No. 14 (New York: Belford Company, July, 1889), page 187:

[No song title or author is given.]

A poor old man of seventy and his wife of sixty-two,
One day in winter, when the snow fell fast,
They were making for the workhouse, for they were too old to toil,
And they knew their span of life was closing fast;
He loving words was speaking to the poor old weary lass,
When his eyes that moment rested on his son,
Who then tried to avoid him and pass on the other side,
But the old man spoke these words ere he was gone:

CHORUS. "You have quite forgot your father, now he's feeble, poor, and old,
You have quite forgot your poor old mother, too;
You think yourself above us, now you're worth a lot of gold,
But you never know what time may bring you to."