To thy dear arms for comfort I was flying,
In grateful thanks I vowed my life to thee:
Preserve thee God! my joy seemed then undying,
Preserve thee God! such joy was not to be.
The clouds fly fast, the wind the leaves is sweeping,
A heavy shower falls o'er woods and meads:
The weather with my parting is in keeping,
Gray as the sky my path before me leads.
Whatever may come, joy's smile or bitter sighing,
Thou lovely maid! I'll think of naught but thee!