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And the blossom mouth and the dainty chin,
And the little dimples out and in.

The girl I love-
God love her!

A song for the girl I loved

God loved her!

A song for the eyes of faded light,

And the cheek whose red rose waned to white, And the quiet brow, with its shadow and gleam, And the dark lashes drooped in a long deep dream,

And the small hands crossed for their churchyard


And the lilies dead on her sweet dead breast.

The girl I loved-
God loved her!



Oh, yes we mean all kind words that we say
To old friends and to new;

Yet doth this truth grow clearer day by day;
We love but few.

We love! we love! What easy words to say
And sweet to hear,
When sunrise splendor brightens all the way,
And, far and near,


Are breath of flowers and caroling of birds,
And bells that chime;

Our hearts are light; we do not weigh our words
At morning time!

But when the matin music all is hushed,
And life's great load

Doth weigh us down, and thick with dust
Doth grow the road,

Then do we say less often that we love.
The words have grown!

With pleading eyes we look to Christ above,
And clasp our own.


Their lives are bound to us by mighty bands
No mortal strait,

Nor Death himself, with his prevailing hands,
Can separate.

The world is wide, and many friends are dear,
And friendships true;

Yet do these words read plainer year by year,
We love but few.



Thou hast diamonds and pearls of rare beauty, Thou hast all that the heart can admire; Thine eyes shine far brighter than jewelsWhat more can my darling desire?

In thine eyes, bright as stars of the evening,
Have I written and tuned to my lyre
Whole volumes of rapturous sonnets-
What more can my darling desire?

With thine eyes of unquenchable splendor Hast thou kindled my heart into fire, And forced me to kneel as thy suitorWhat more can my darling desire?

From the German of HEINE.


Her lips were so near
That-what else could I do?
You'll be angry, I fear,
But her lips were so near-
Well, I can't make it clear,
Or explain it to you,
But her lips were so near
That-what else could I do?


A lover gave the wedding ring
Into the goldsmith's hand;
"Grave me," he said, "a tender thought
Within the golden band,"


The goldsmith graved
With careful art,
"Till death us part."

The wedding bell rang gladly out;
The husband said, "O wife,
Together we shall share the grief,
The happiness of life.
I give to thee

My hand, my heart,
Till death us part."

"Twas she that lifted now his hand,
(O love, that this should be!)
Then on it placed the golden band,
And whispered tenderly;
"Till death us join.

Lo, thou art mine,

And I am thine.

"And when death joins, we nevermore
Shall know an aching heart,
The bridal of that better love

Death has no power to part,
That troth will be,
For thee and me,

So up the hill and down the hill,
Through fifty changing years,


They shared each other's happiness,
They dried each other's tears.

Alas, alas,

That death's cold dart
Such love can part!

But one sad day-she stood alone
Beside his narrow bed;

She drew the ring from off her hand,
And to the goldsmith said;

"O man who graved

With careful art,
'Till death us part,'

"Now grave four other words for me,-
'Till death us join.' He took
The precious golden band once more,
With solemn, wistful look,

And wrought with care,
For love, not coin,
"Till death us join."


Is love contagious?—I don't know;
But this I am prepared to say,
That I have felt for many a day
A great desire to make it so.

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