darkened hours.
131
My voice is silent, though I mark
The toil and woe of human lives,—
The beauty of that human love,
That meekly suffers, trusts, and strives.
The toil and woe of human lives,—
The beauty of that human love,
That meekly suffers, trusts, and strives.
My voice is silent, though I see
The captive pining in his cell,
And hear the exiled patriot breathe,
O'er the wild seas, his sad farewell.
The captive pining in his cell,
And hear the exiled patriot breathe,
O'er the wild seas, his sad farewell.
No song of joy is on my lip,
While Freedom's banners are unfurled,
And Freedom's fearless battle-shouts
And triumph-lays ring round the world.
While Freedom's banners are unfurled,
And Freedom's fearless battle-shouts
And triumph-lays ring round the world.
No glow of rapturous feeling comes
To flush my cheek, or light mine eye,
While golden splendors of the morn
Are kindling all the eastern sky.
To flush my cheek, or light mine eye,
While golden splendors of the morn
Are kindling all the eastern sky.
Nor when, while dews weigh down the rose,
I read amid the shadowy even
That bright Evangel of our God,
Whose words are worlds, the starry heaven.
I read amid the shadowy even
That bright Evangel of our God,
Whose words are worlds, the starry heaven.
