Dear to my heart, as life’s warm stream

Which animates this mortal clay,

For thee I court the waking dream,

And deck with smiles the future day:

And thus beguile the present pain

With hopes that we shall meet again!

Yet will it be as when the past

Twined every joy, and care, and thought,

And o’er our minds one mantle cast

Of kind affections, finely wrought?

Ah no! the groundless hope were vain

For so, we ne’er can meet again!

May he who claims thy tender heart,

Deserve its love, as I have done;

For kind and gentle as thou art,

If so beloved thou’rt fairly won.

Bright may the sacred torch remain,

And cheer thee till we meet again.