You ask me what--since we must part-- You shall bring home to me; Bring back a pure and faithful heart, As true as mine to thee. I ask not wealth nor fame, I only ask for thee, Thyself--and that dear self the same-- My love, bring back to me! You talk of gems from foreign lands, Of treasure, spoil, and prize. Ah, love! I shall not search your hands, But look into your eyes. I ask not wealth nor fame, I only ask for thee, Thyself--and that dear self the same-- My love, bring back to me! You speak of glory and renown, With me to share your pride, Unbroken faith is all the crown I ask for as your bride. I ask not wealth nor fame, I only ask for thee, Thyself--and that dear self the same-- My love, bring back to me! You bid me with hope's eager gaze Behold fair fortune come. I only dream I see your face Beside the hearth at home. I ask not wealth nor fame, I do but ask for thee! Thyself--and that dear self the same-- May God restore to me! ANEMONES. If I should wish hereafter that your heart Should beat with one fair memory of me, May Time's hard hand our footsteps guide apart, But lead yours back one spring-time to the Lea. Nodding Anemones, Wind-flowers pale, Bloom with the budding trees, Dancing to every breeze, Mock hopes more fair than these, Love's vows more frail. For then the grass we loved grows green again, And April showers make April woods more fair; But no sun dries the sad salt tears of pain, Or brings back summer lights on faded hair, Nodding Anemones, Wind-flowers pale, Bloom with the budding trees, Dancing to every breeze, Mock hopes more frail than these, Love's vows more frail. AUTUMN LEAVES. The Spring's bright tints no more are seen, And Summer's ample robe of green Is russet-gold and brown; When flowers fall to every breeze And, shed reluctant from the trees, The leaves drop down. A sadness steals about the heart, --And is it thus from youth we part, And life's redundant prime? Must friends like flowers fade away, And life like Nature know decay, And bow to time? And yet such sadness meets rebuke, From every copse in every nook Where Autumn's colours glow; How bright the sky! How full the sheaves! What mellow glories gild the leaves Before they go. Then let us sing the jocund praise, In this bright air, of these bright days, When years our friendships crown; The love that's loveliest when 'tis old-- When tender tints have turned to gold And leaves drop down. HYMNS. CONFIRMATION.