Her Love for Him My true love laughs, and angel choirs sing; The mountains echo back his tuneful mirth While Nature dances, heav’n in step with earth. ‘Tis music to mine ear; mine heart takes wing! Into my love’s embrace I fly secure, And tenderly he holds me in his arms As if to shelter me from sin’s alarms. Like rooted rock his faithfulness is sure. If I could sing, my song would rise on high As counterpoint to laughter’s melody. My thanks and praise emblazoned in the sky To God, who gave mine own true love to me. And so, with heart and mind and strength and soul I sing of thee, whose love has made me whole. His Love for Her As dew from fair Aurora’s tears didst drip Upon the broad-winged flight of earth’s embrace, So doth my pleasure-dampened eye let slip A tear of joy when I behold thy face. Thy nose, how like a peak in Darien, Thy two-some cheeks, like rosy-fingered Dawn, Thy lips, as sweet as red valerian, Thy neck as lithe and graceful as a swan. Mine heart belongs to thee and thee alone, Mine eyes none but thyself wouldst see, My love desireth nothing but thine own, My life I proffer, forfeit, unto thee, All that I am, all that I have are thine, If only thou wouldst make thine own heart, mine. A Pledge of Troth A rock in Sinai’s withered wilderness Was struck by prophet’s staff; from which, by grace Of God, burst forth a watered stream apace. Thus Providence did parchéd Jacob bless. My true love, like this rock, o’erflows with life. A living stone to which I cling amain, From whom bursts forth sweet laughter. It is vain For me to deign to be less than his wife. My rock! My love! My anchor in the storm! I cling to thee and wilt not let thee go! My summer shade. My winter hearthen warm. Thou art all things to me; God made thee so. To thee, I pledge my troth alone to thee. Whom God has joined together, thee and me. James A. Tweedie is a recently retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He likes to walk on the beach with his wife. He has written and self-published four novels and a collection of short stories. He has several hundred unpublished poems tucked away in drawers.