One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads Original, and suitable for music [by Jean Ingelow] |
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[In foul and cheerless places] |
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 | One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads |  |
57
[In foul and cheerless places]
“Your gold and silver is cankered.
In foul and cheerless places
I sought my realm's disgraces;
The poor—I mark'd their faces—ill they sped;
Hard by the forges burning,
And by the great wheels turning,
Behold them, grimly earning,—their bread.
I sought my realm's disgraces;
The poor—I mark'd their faces—ill they sped;
Hard by the forges burning,
And by the great wheels turning,
Behold them, grimly earning,—their bread.
They toil'd amid the fire,
The deep mines, and the mire,
And won not their desire—nay, nor ease;
But trouble to them cleavèd
Till old age unreprievèd,
These have we bereavèd—yea, these.
The deep mines, and the mire,
And won not their desire—nay, nor ease;
But trouble to them cleavèd
Till old age unreprievèd,
These have we bereavèd—yea, these.
But as I turn'd me, sighing,
From their long strife, and crying,
Where my sweet home was lying—fair to see,
A voice mine ears receivèd,
The words of One that grievèd,
“Me have ye bereavèd—yea, Me.”
From their long strife, and crying,
Where my sweet home was lying—fair to see,
A voice mine ears receivèd,
The words of One that grievèd,
“Me have ye bereavèd—yea, Me.”
“Break, heart, thy brother weepeth;
And One the record keepeth,
While yet the judgment sleepeth—heed and wake;
His want thy glory fretteth,
His shame thine honour letteth,
Lest God thy name forgetteth—break, break.
And One the record keepeth,
While yet the judgment sleepeth—heed and wake;
His want thy glory fretteth,
His shame thine honour letteth,
Lest God thy name forgetteth—break, break.
58
“For these, my brethren, pleading
I lie, down-trod and bleeding,
And ye, my wounds unheeding, pass me by;
Till having lived in pleasure,
In quiet and long leisure,
And heaping up of treasure—ye die.
I lie, down-trod and bleeding,
And ye, my wounds unheeding, pass me by;
Till having lived in pleasure,
In quiet and long leisure,
And heaping up of treasure—ye die.
“Your gold and silver rusteth,
And whoso in them trusteth,
His own soul forth he thrusteth—heaven to flee;”
The words of One that grievèd,—
“O ye souls deceivèd,
Me have ye bereavèd—yea, Me.”
And whoso in them trusteth,
His own soul forth he thrusteth—heaven to flee;”
The words of One that grievèd,—
“O ye souls deceivèd,
Me have ye bereavèd—yea, Me.”
| One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads | |