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I feel I'm growing auld;
The luve that ne'er turned cauld.
I canna bear the dreary thocht O'er hill and meadow fa',
That we maun sindered be; And, hinnie, were it no for you,
There's naething binds my puir auld heart I'd gladly slip awa'.
To earth, gude-wife, but thee.
"NOT OURS THE VOWS.”
Each to the other dearer.
Love, born in hours of joy and mirth,
With mirth and joy may perish ;
That to which darker hours gave birth
Still more and more we cherish.
And through death's shadowy portal;
Made by adversity sublime,
By faith and hope immortal.
Through life's vapors dimly seeing,
Who but longs for light to break ?
Oh, the feverish dream of being !
When, oh when, shall we awake?