Andante.

The days and weeks are going, love, The years roll on apace, And the hand of time is showing, love, In the care lines on thy face;

But the tie that bound our hearts, love, In the morning’s golden haze, Is a tie that never parts, love, With the passing of the days.

For though Death’s arm be strong, love, Our love its light will shed, And like a glorious song, love, Will live when Death is dead.