Copyright © 2004 by Paul Howarth
All Rights Reserved

Love is a plaintive song,
Sung by a suff'ring maid,
Telling a tale of wrong,
Telling of hope betrayed;
Tuned to each changing note,
Sorry when he is sad,
Blind to his ev'ry mote,
Merry when he is glad!
Merry when he is glad!
Love that no wrong can cure,
Love that is always new,
That is the love that's pure,
That is the love that's true!
Love that no wrong can cure,
Love that is always new,
That is the love that's pure,
That is the love, the love that's true!

Rendering good for ill,
Smiling at ev'ry frown,
Yielding your own selfwill,
Laughing your teardrops down;
Never a selfish whim,
Trouble, or pain to stir;
Everything for him,
Nothing at all for her!
Nothing at all for her!
Love that will aye endure,
Though the rewards be few,
That is the love that's pure,
That is the love that's true!
Love that will aye endure,
Though the rewards be few,
That is the love that's pure,
That is the love, the love that's true!

By Arthur Sullivan
Generated by NoteWorthy Composer

Patience No. 14
Lyrics
Vocal
Right Hand
Left Hand
Tempo