 | Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover |  |
IT MAY BE YET.
“It may be yet, it may be yet:”
How oft that dreamy thought hath charm'd!
“It may be yet, it may be yet,”
Hath oft despair disarm'd.
The Sun, tho' clouded all the day,
In glory bright may set;
So may we watch for Love's bright ray,
And, hopeful thro' the darkness, say,
“It may be yet, it may be yet,
My own dear love, it may be yet!”
How oft that dreamy thought hath charm'd!
“It may be yet, it may be yet,”
Hath oft despair disarm'd.
The Sun, tho' clouded all the day,
In glory bright may set;
So may we watch for Love's bright ray,
And, hopeful thro' the darkness, say,
“It may be yet, it may be yet,
My own dear love, it may be yet!”
180
The sailor, by some dangerous shore,
Impatient on a breezeless tide,
Within the breakers' warning roar
That tells where dangers bide,
Undaunted still, with hopeful care
His stedfast eye doth set
To watch the coming breeze so fair—
That breath from Heaven—that whispers there,
“It may be yet, it may be yet,
Oh! sailor bold, it may be yet!”
Impatient on a breezeless tide,
Within the breakers' warning roar
That tells where dangers bide,
Undaunted still, with hopeful care
His stedfast eye doth set
To watch the coming breeze so fair—
That breath from Heaven—that whispers there,
“It may be yet, it may be yet,
Oh! sailor bold, it may be yet!”
The weeping maid, in sunlit bow'r,
Whose sparkling dew-drops mock her tears,
Waking her harp's pathetic pow'r
Some strain of gladness hears:
As if some pitying angel's wing,
O'er chords with tear-drops wet,
Had gently swept the wailing string,
And bade one tone of promise ring
“It may be yet, it may be yet,
Oh! weeping maid, it may be yet!”
Whose sparkling dew-drops mock her tears,
Waking her harp's pathetic pow'r
Some strain of gladness hears:
As if some pitying angel's wing,
O'er chords with tear-drops wet,
Had gently swept the wailing string,
And bade one tone of promise ring
“It may be yet, it may be yet,
Oh! weeping maid, it may be yet!”
| Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover | |