TEARS. VI. For Conscience, and its voice of awe- TEARS. [Music by SIR H. R. BISHOP.] I. O YE tears! O ye tears! that have long refused to flow, Ye are welcome to my heart, thawing, thawing, like the snow; I hear the hard clod soften, and the early snow-drops spring, And the healing fountains gush, and the wildernesses 0 sing. II. ye tears! O ye tears! I am thankful that ye run; Though ye trickle in the darkness, ye shall glisten in the sun. The rainbow cannot shine, if the drops refuse to fall, And the eyes that cannot weep, are the saddest eyes of all. III. 0 ye tears! O ye tears! till I felt you on my cheek, I was selfish in my sorrow, I was stubborn, I was weak. Ye have given me strength to conquer, and I stand erect and free, And know that I am human by the light of sympathy. IV. O ye tears! O ye tears! ye relieve me of my pain; It yields the flowing water, to make gladness in the land. V. There is light upon my path, there is sunshine in my heart, tears! happy tears! I am thankful that ye flow! FORBEARANCE. I. WHY should we pluck the dewy rose That warbles on the thorn? We'll leave the flower to woo the sun, And walk through pleasures, grasping none, II. When scorners scorn, or foes revile, Or friends look dark and shy, We'll neither give them scorn for scorn, A CRY FROM THE DEEP WATERS. We'll check the storm of rising pride III. And should the foe who did us wrong To shame him where he stands. We'll pity-hear—and spare ;- A CRY FROM THE DEEP WATERS. I. FROM the deep and troubled waters Wild are the waves around me Dark the sky: There is no hand to pluck me III. A cry of suffering gushes As I behold the distant White-sail'd ships O'er the dark waters gleaming IV. They pass; they are too lofty They cannot see the spaces The last hope dies within me, Through dim cloud-vistas looking I can see, The new moon's crescent sailing And one star coldly shining VI. There are no sounds in Nature But my moan, The shriek of the wild petrel All alone, And roar of waves exulting To make my flesh their own. A SONG AFTER A TOAST. VII. Billow with billow rages, Strength fails me; coldness gathers From the deep and troubled waters A SONG AFTER A TOAST. I. Ir he, to whom this toast we drink, Has brought the needy to his door, 11. If he be poor, and yet has striven One loaf that it was hard to spare; If in his poverty, erect, He never did one deed of shame, Fill high! we'll drain in deep respect A bumper to his name. G 81 |