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THE LAST GIFT.
I leave thee, love! In vain hast thou
The God of life implored;
My clinging soul is torn from thine,
My faithful, my adored!
My last gift,—I have on it breathed
In blessing and in prayer;
So lay it close, close to thy heart,
This little lock of hair!
I leave thee, love! In vain hast thou
The God of life implored;
My clinging soul is torn from thine,
My faithful, my adored!
My last gift,—I have on it breathed
In blessing and in prayer;
So lay it close, close to thy heart,
This little lock of hair!
I know thou wilt think tenderly
And lovingly on me,
Thou wilt forget my waywardness,
When I am gone from thee;
Thou wilt remember all my love,
Which made thee think me fair;
Thou wilt with many tears be-gem
This little lock of hair!
And lovingly on me,
Thou wilt forget my waywardness,
When I am gone from thee;
Thou wilt remember all my love,
Which made thee think me fair;
Thou wilt with many tears be-gem
This little lock of hair!
