Onward to me the years may fly But not relieved of my tears and sighs. Remember I held you with my little golden gloves Till the distant times brought your faded love.
Back o’er the mountain Where the sun ne’er shines Was left a snow drift From winter time. In this lonely little spot Where nothing will grow The warm summer winds Ne’er melts the snow.
You have a soul as tender as the breath of a rose, Each day my life’s worth living as our love grows and grows, There never shone a star as bright, no sweeter words could have come to light.
And there’s a compensation to you life owes, For your soul being as tender as the breath of a rose, And the coldest night the winter wind blows In my heart’s a humming that no one knows.
My love for you just gently flows, While I sit and think of the words to compose. May always your soul be tender As the breath of a rose.
The little wild rose I gave to you ’Tis a token of my love, Will you be true?
It was losing its petals, For autumn was near, But love so humble, For you my dear.
If all through life This rose could speak, ’Twould strengthen our love Should it e’er grow weak.
Just as many days that my heart has broken I will count and hold as love’s sad token, But just the way my heart is aching Some day you’ll love, then you’ll be forsaken. You may be happy for a time, in a way, But fate will overrule, then you’re sure to pay, And when that time comes you’ll sit and look in space. In each, and every vision, will be my broken-hearted face. Then you will see and solemnly plead To have the time shortened, my heart did bleed. But remember when you’re playing with the game of love You can fool many a body, but think whose above.
Our lives is like a ball of twine, Day by day it unwinds, As if tied to a reel that you turn and turn; This is what every soul should learn. Who only knows where the end will appear On this tiny little string holding life so dear. Above is our judge to handle this case, We know not when the time, nor space Being numbered in moments, days, hours, and years, Save us, Oh! Lord, as the time draws near; And when the end cometh its the work of our God Then forever we’ll sleep beneath the sod.
Blessed art the ones Whom our Father crowns. But lost art the ones Whom seeketh and ne’er found.