He led Her to the Altar.
Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, N. Y., publishers of the music.
He led her to the altar,
But the bride was not his chosen;
He led her with a hand as cold
As though its pulse had frozen.
Flowers were crush’d beneath his tread,
A gilded dome was o’er him;
But his brow was damp, and his lips were pale,
As the marble steps before him.