“In hours of grief acute
Thus peace religion brings,
Like the bloom upon the fruit,
Or the oil upon the wings.
Though tears fall fast in sorrow’s day,
They cannot harm, they cannot stay.”
“Sing that again, my love,” said Oscar.
“I did not know that you were listening; I thought that I had lulled you to sleep,” said Io. “So you like my little song?”
“Your music is my solace,” replied Oscar; “it tells me that you are happy, and to see you so is my greatest earthly desire.”
“I have one song which you have not heard yet,” observed Io. “I stole the air from the world; it is a pretty old English tune. You know that Luther said that the evil one should not have the best music.”