“The years creep slowly by, Lorena;
The snow is on the grass again,
The sun’s low down the sky, Lorena,
The frost is where the flowers have been.
But the heart throbs on as warmly now
As when the summer days were nigh;
Oh, the sun can never dip so low
Adown affection’s cloudless sky.
A hundred months have passed, Lorena,
Since last I held thy hand in mine,