And tremble at the touches of your hands.

Tho’ death should come and seal my eyelids shut,

And tho’ I tremble at his cold commands,

I could be drawn away e’en from the tomb, methinks

If then, dear, you would touch me with your hands.

{82}

Your Friend

THO’ you’re a heathen to the core

T

And cause him untold pain,

He knows everything about you

But loves you just the same.

You need not always seek him

For he’s often seeking you.

He has a welcome for the stranger

But a warmer heart for you.

He is rather scarce on talking

But at listening he is good.

You love to be around him

But respect his solicitude.

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