 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
631
OLE BULL
The minstrel's mystic wand
Has fallen from his hand;
Stilled is the tuneful shell;
The airs he used to play
For us but yesterday
Have failed and died away
In sad farewell.
Has fallen from his hand;
Stilled is the tuneful shell;
The airs he used to play
For us but yesterday
Have failed and died away
In sad farewell.
Forgive—O noble heart,
Whose pure and gracious art
Enraptured, all these years,
Sang sweet, and sweeter yet
Above all sounds that fret,
And all sobs of regret—
Forgive our tears!
Whose pure and gracious art
Enraptured, all these years,
Sang sweet, and sweeter yet
Above all sounds that fret,
And all sobs of regret—
Forgive our tears!
Forgive us, weeping thus
That thou art gone from us—
Because thy song divine,
Too, with the master, gone,
Leaves us to listen on
In silence till the dawn
That now is thine.
That thou art gone from us—
Because thy song divine,
Too, with the master, gone,
Leaves us to listen on
In silence till the dawn
That now is thine.
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |