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O gentle weariness,Thine is the power that can all spirits freeFrom bonding-trouble, thou art a goddessTo all the suffering slaves of misery.Thy sanctuaryNo suppliant vainly seeketh; wheresoe’erDesperate grief is, then unfailinglyIs thine all-hallowing rest & refuge there.Our sorrow hath outgrownSolace, yet still in thine all-mothering handIs balm of soft oblivion, who aloneOur never-ending needs dost understand.
O gentle weariness,Thine is the power that can all spirits freeFrom bonding-trouble, thou art a goddessTo all the suffering slaves of misery.Thy sanctuaryNo suppliant vainly seeketh; wheresoe’erDesperate grief is, then unfailinglyIs thine all-hallowing rest & refuge there.Our sorrow hath outgrownSolace, yet still in thine all-mothering handIs balm of soft oblivion, who aloneOur never-ending needs dost understand.
O gentle weariness,Thine is the power that can all spirits freeFrom bonding-trouble, thou art a goddessTo all the suffering slaves of misery.
O gentle weariness,
Thine is the power that can all spirits free
From bonding-trouble, thou art a goddess
To all the suffering slaves of misery.
Thy sanctuaryNo suppliant vainly seeketh; wheresoe’erDesperate grief is, then unfailinglyIs thine all-hallowing rest & refuge there.
Thy sanctuary
No suppliant vainly seeketh; wheresoe’er
Desperate grief is, then unfailingly
Is thine all-hallowing rest & refuge there.
Our sorrow hath outgrownSolace, yet still in thine all-mothering handIs balm of soft oblivion, who aloneOur never-ending needs dost understand.
Our sorrow hath outgrown
Solace, yet still in thine all-mothering hand
Is balm of soft oblivion, who alone
Our never-ending needs dost understand.