Like the feathered songster's richer strain
When by cruel hands deprived of sight,
So grander tones in harmonic train
Flow sweetly forth from life's sad blight.
When by cruel hands deprived of sight,
So grander tones in harmonic train
Flow sweetly forth from life's sad blight.
O blind musician! thy day is night,
Not even the moon, so pensive pale,
Inspires thy notes as with sheeny light
The evening song of the nightingale.
Not even the moon, so pensive pale,
Inspires thy notes as with sheeny light
The evening song of the nightingale.
And we go forth to the day—the day
With its wealth of sunshine broad and free
O, our very lives should glide away
As strong and sweet as thy melody!
With its wealth of sunshine broad and free
O, our very lives should glide away
As strong and sweet as thy melody!
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