The Wife's Answer

For the Courier: Thou dost nsk if I love thee, Bernard ! Canat thou doubt lf my heart la thlne own ? Hear ye not the glad echo, Bernanl. Tbat wtilapers thy niitie, thlne alone? Aye, sweet from Love'a foun t al n there flowa A. Hlremil tlmt ia BhtnillK and olear, A oft on 1U rlpple I gaie Dotb the face of my Toved one appear. The touch of no otber hath power To thrlll me wlth rapture, llke thlne, May no other, dearest, to thee Be ever more welcome than mine. The llght of the morn are Umie eye, My ralnbow, forever, thy smlle, The evenlng wlth ronu-hue lt dies, And cheers, while lt does not begulle. Tby love makes far brlghter the day, And NWMftona my alumber by nlght; I baak In the siitishlnp of Joy, And lest In the Hhade of dVlight. In atorm and In calin Is thy volee Kver aoundliiK tlie deplhs oí iuy soul, Wlth the zpphyr and gale I rejolce, My cup of tuanltsglvlng Is lull. When unto my Savlour I mle My beart la an otlurin i of prayer, Orworablp In aRCt-nUof pralse, Thy prevence la wlth me e'en there. " TUI death do uu part," dear Bernard, Yea. all tbrough the journey of llfe. There la no one, belleve rne, Bernard, 80 loving and true bh thy wtfe.