Rise up and take your blessing, happy pair!

 I lay in thine, sad bride, this princely hand— In all the world there is no nobler name— And thou, brave groom—though 'tis not what we planned— Take her, she will be true: be thou the same. 

In all the world there is no nobler name—

Take her, she will be true: be thou the same.

 Courage and sorrow: might these two give birth? O thought too bold, O dream too sweet, too wild? Though joy—dear joy—be dead and cold in earth, Her ghost is peace, and love is sorrow's child. 

O thought too bold, O dream too sweet, too wild?

Her ghost is peace, and love is sorrow's child.

 

 

   THE PASTURE BARS 

 The hunted stag, now nearly spent, Turns homeward to his lair: The wounded Bedouin seeks his tent And finds safe shelter there. 

Turns homeward to his lair:

And finds safe shelter there.

 So life returns upon its track: We toil, we fight, we roam, Till the long shadows point us back, And evening brings us home. 

We toil, we fight, we roam,

And evening brings us home.

 To-night beside the pasture bars I heard the whippoorwill, While, one by one, the early stars Came out above the hill. 

I heard the whippoorwill,

Came out above the hill.

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