Him Who Loves Thee Best

Oh come to him who loves thee best
Oh come to him who loves thee
Thy bosom be his place of rest
Thine eyes like heaven above thee
Oh come to him that loves thee best
My Susan come to him
Wi gown as crimson as the west
Straw hat and ribbons trim

2

The dew is on the primrose pale
And on the white thorn buds
Oh come wi me and walk the vale
And honeysuckle woods
Let thy young spirit fancy me
With mine the hours employ
As one let us together be
All happiness! All joy!

3

Oh! come to him who loves thee best
The Lilacs are in blossom
And little birdies have their nest
But nothing like thy bosom
Oh Susan dont contrary be
For leave thee can I never
If thoult be me love I'll be thee
Loving in truth for ever
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.