 | English melodies |  |
50
THE REBUKE.
Oh! speak to me no more—no more—
Nor cast your sighs away;
For what you think is to adore,
I feel is to betray.
Your words—your vows—in vain would hide
The truth which I divine,
If wedding me would hurt your pride
Then wooing me hurts mine.
Nor cast your sighs away;
For what you think is to adore,
I feel is to betray.
Your words—your vows—in vain would hide
The truth which I divine,
If wedding me would hurt your pride
Then wooing me hurts mine.
Oh! ne'er commit so great a fault,
Nor wrong the vows you've made;
For what you say is to exalt—
I feel is to degrade!—
To make me yours, whilst life endures,
Must be at God's own shrine:
If such a bride would hurt your pride,
Then such a love hurts mine.
Nor wrong the vows you've made;
For what you say is to exalt—
I feel is to degrade!—
To make me yours, whilst life endures,
Must be at God's own shrine:
If such a bride would hurt your pride,
Then such a love hurts mine.
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