THE SPIRIT OF THE DEPARTED.
I knowthou art gone to thy home of rest;Then why should my soul be sad?I know thou art gone where the weary are blest,And the mourner looks up and is glad;Where Love has put off, in the land of its birth,The stain it had gathered in this,And Hope, the sweet singer that gladdened the earth,Lies asleep on the bosom of bliss.
I knowthou art gone to thy home of rest;Then why should my soul be sad?I know thou art gone where the weary are blest,And the mourner looks up and is glad;Where Love has put off, in the land of its birth,The stain it had gathered in this,And Hope, the sweet singer that gladdened the earth,Lies asleep on the bosom of bliss.
I knowthou art gone to thy home of rest;Then why should my soul be sad?I know thou art gone where the weary are blest,And the mourner looks up and is glad;
I knowthou art gone to thy home of rest;
Then why should my soul be sad?
I know thou art gone where the weary are blest,
And the mourner looks up and is glad;
Where Love has put off, in the land of its birth,The stain it had gathered in this,And Hope, the sweet singer that gladdened the earth,Lies asleep on the bosom of bliss.
Where Love has put off, in the land of its birth,
The stain it had gathered in this,
And Hope, the sweet singer that gladdened the earth,
Lies asleep on the bosom of bliss.
Hervey.