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Till memory, the fond one, that sits in the soul,
Took up the frail links, and connected the whole;
As the dew to the blossom, the bud to the bee,
As the scent to the rose, are those memories to me;
Round the chords of my heart they have tremblingly clung,
And the echo it gives is the song I have sung.
Took up the frail links, and connected the whole;
As the dew to the blossom, the bud to the bee,
As the scent to the rose, are those memories to me;
Round the chords of my heart they have tremblingly clung,
And the echo it gives is the song I have sung.
