HARK TO THE LOW WINDS SIGHING.
153
Bitter words are floating round
On the troubled air,
Drowning with discordant sound
All the music there.
Come, bird of Hope, to me,
I would fill my heart with thee,
And, 'mid so much melody,
Leave no room for care.
On the troubled air,
Drowning with discordant sound
All the music there.
Come, bird of Hope, to me,
I would fill my heart with thee,
And, 'mid so much melody,
Leave no room for care.
Fast, my bark is bounding fast
O'er the troubled deep,
Watchful eyes around it cast,
Jealous vigils keep.
Come, sweet bird of Song, to me,
Or my heart will break for thee;
Come, and with thy melody
Charm them all asleep!
O'er the troubled deep,
Watchful eyes around it cast,
Jealous vigils keep.
Come, sweet bird of Song, to me,
Or my heart will break for thee;
Come, and with thy melody
Charm them all asleep!
HARK TO THE LOW WINDS SIGHING!
Hark, to the low winds sighing,
Leaves rustle sad;
In the vestments of the dying,
Autumn is clad.
Ye, who saw the summer-flower
Blooming in May,
Now pause to ponder o'er
Nature's decay.
Leaves rustle sad;
In the vestments of the dying,
Autumn is clad.
Ye, who saw the summer-flower
Blooming in May,
Now pause to ponder o'er
Nature's decay.
