Tell me, tell me, gentle stars,

Ever watchful, ever bright,

From your stations in the sky

Do you see my love to-night?

White the snow beneath my feet,

Whiter far her holy breast;

Peaceful are the mighty woods,

But her eyes are soft with rest.

Sweet the scent of spruce and pine,

Sweeter, though, her fragrant breath;

Tell her, tell her, gentle stars,

I am hers alone till death.

[Pg 4]

[Pg 4]

 Dark Days

The sun has left his throne,

The sky is leaden-hued;

The hopeless winds bemoan,

In icy aisles, their fate.

All day the shadows press

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