You shall kneel to her in your bridal veil,
And no holier hands shall bless you.
Put your young bright head, with its wealth of curl,
By that old white head of the other,
And entwine the gold with the gray, my girl,
By the side of your dear old mother.
“Though her eyes be weary and dim to-day,
In the shade of the dusk advancing
She sees the visions along the way
Where your young swift feet are dancing;