In the soul is born a feeling,
Or a sentiment, called love,
Which is nursed, caressed and cherished
With care, tender, from Above.
By the law of God, who made us,
By the guidance of its like,
It selects a life companion
From where'er its fancies strike.
Often does it make an error;
Oft is deceived in its find;
Oft is scorned and turned back coldly:
Oft brings sadness to the mind.
By the law of man 'tis given
As a trust, with cupid's seal,
To be nurtured, fondly cared for:
Thus becomes life's woe or weal.
By the law of changeful nature,
It is made to ill agree;
In its haste has oft been blinded
By some false identity.
On its whims have hung great fortunes,
Or the fates of great careers.
By the sting of its rejection,
Lives have been engulfed in tears.
Hearts have yearned for its fond presence
E'en grim Death has stayed his stroke
To permit this magic power
To repair a heart, once broke.
For love's sake have lives been ended:
From its joy has sorrow fled:
To its care is honor trusted.
Souls bereft of love are dead.