Dolly Sits A-Quilting By Her Mother, Stich By Stitch, Gracious, How My Pulses Throb, How My Fingers Itch, While I Note Her Dainty Waist And Her Slender Hand, As She Matches This And That, She Stitches Strand By Strand. And I Long To Tell Her Life'S A Quilt And I'm A Patch; Love Will Do The Stitching If She'll Only Be My Match.