The rose was still a rose, you know—

But yet a maid. What could I do?

You surely would not have me go,

When rosy maidens seem to woo?

My heart was gay, and 'mid the throng

I sported for an hour or two;

We danced the flowery paths along,

And did as youthful lovers do.

But sports must cease, and so I dreamed

To part with these, my fairy flowers—

But oh, how very hard it seemed

To say good-by 'mid such sweet bowers!

And one fair Maid of modest air

Gazed on me with her eye of blue;

I saw the tear-drop gathering there—

How could I say to her, Adieu!

I fondly gave my hand and heart,

And we were wed. Bright hour of youth!

How little did I think to part

With my sweet bride, whose name was Truth!

But time passed on, and Truth grew gray,

And chided, though with gentlest art:

I loved her, though I went astray,

And almost broke her faithful heart.

And then I left her, and in tears—

These could not move my hardened breast!

I wandered, and for weary years

I sought for bliss, but found no rest.

I sought—yet ever sought in vain—

To find the peace, the joy of youth:

At last, I turned me back again,

And found them with my faithful Truth.