“O, lay thy hand in mine, dear!”

Gerald Massey (1828–1907)

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.