O lie on my heart, as you ever do,
Till my heart grows lighter under your touch;
O little May-blossom! while I have you
No shaft of misfortune can hurt me much!'
He has work'd all day on the virgin sod;
We have eaten the meal that my hands prepare;
We have said our prayers to the Father-God,
And Harry is placidly sleeping there.
He is sleeping there, while I work away—
My busy needle has plenty to do;