Call me thine own, dearest,
Call me thine own ;
Whisper it over
In love's gentlest tone.
Murmur it oft
In the stillness of night;
Tenderly breathe it
At morn's early light.
Naught in the wide world
Can thrill like thy tone;
Then call me thine own, dearest,
Call me thine own.
Call me thine own, love;
Far dearer to me
Are such words than bright gems
From the depths of the sea.
Like music the sweetest,
Oft wakened before,
My heart drinks them in,
And keeps thirsting for more.
Oh, the purest of joy
-This fond heart e'er has known,
Has been born of this thought,—
Thou hast called me thine own.
Then call me thine own, dear;
Embalmed with thy breath,
Those accents will linger
To cheer me till death.
Whether severed by fate
From the dearest and best,
Or, in rapture untold,
I recline on thy breast,
Still, still round my path
Let this blessing be thrown,—
That thou hast, dost, and ever wilt,
Call me thine own.
