“O, lay thy hand in mine, dear!”

O, Lay thy hand in mine, dear! We ’re growing old; But Time hath brought no sign, dear, That hearts grow cold. ’T is long, long since our new love Made life divine; But age enricheth true love, Like noble wine. And lay thy cheek to mine, dear, And take thy rest; Mine arms around thee twine, dear, And make thy nest. A many cares are pressing On this dear head; But Sorrow’s hands in blessing Are surely laid. O, lean thy life on mine, dear! ’T will shelter thee. Thou wert a winsome vine, dear, On my young tree: And so, till boughs are leafless, And songbirds flown, We ’ll twine, then lay us, griefless, Together down.