 | The forest minstrel |  |
LIFE.
Like a strain of melody,
Gushing from an angel lyre,
With a wild and tuneful wail,
Breaking from the quivering wire;
Gushing from an angel lyre,
With a wild and tuneful wail,
Breaking from the quivering wire;
Ruffling with its viewless wing,
One small billow of the air;
Then with cadence of a sigh,
Passing—no one knoweth where.
One small billow of the air;
Then with cadence of a sigh,
Passing—no one knoweth where.
Such is Life—and even so
Passeth it from earth away;
Where it findeth place of rest,
Echo cometh not to say.
Passeth it from earth away;
Where it findeth place of rest,
Echo cometh not to say.
Yet Faith heareth far away,
Where no venturous foot hath trod,
Floods of perfect melody,
Living round the throne of God.
Where no venturous foot hath trod,
Floods of perfect melody,
Living round the throne of God.
| The forest minstrel | |