My father hath bidden me seek out a bride,
My mother with smiles bids me bring to my hearth
A maiden not dowered with riches and pride,
But one whose possessions are beauty and worth,
Whose mind a deep well of pure feelings shall be,
And where shall I find such another as thee?
A home I have built by Gennassareth’s lake,
And there I have planted the fig-tree and vine,
The boughs of the one a green bower shall make,
The other’s long tendrils I’ll teach to entwine
As a curtain to shut out the rays of the sun,
That might tan the fair cheek of my beautiful one.
All day the sweet music of water is heard,
While the breezes make love to the whispering leaves,
And their song’s answered back by the trill of a bird,
That hath fearlessly built up its nest in my eaves;
But though their sweet voices are almost divine,
They are nought when compared to the music of thine.
And if care for a moment should darken thy brow,
Or sadness should fling its dark shade over thee,
I will tune my wild harp to amuse thee, and thou
Shalt warble the sweet songs of Zion to me;
In hymns to th’ Eternal our voices we’ll blend,
And our prayers to the footstool of God shall ascend.
