Classic Poem

ANOTHER

A MOAN for the hapless dying,
A moan for the helpless dead,
A moan for the thousands lying
On yonder hillock dread.
A moan for the passed and passing
Let us, the living, give;
And then, our voices massing,
A groan for those that live.

JOB

If Thou to a grave would'st guide me,
And over me darkness cast,
In secrecy would'st hide me
Till Thy day of wrath be past,
An appointed time, oh, set me
To wait Thy welcome call;
Nor, hidden, do Thou forget me,
Lest I, like the mountain, fall!

For now while e'en I slumber
Thou watchest o'er my sin;
My footsteps Thou dost number,
And the shrinking fears therein.
Desire with desire Thou cloyest;
The race ends ere 'tis ran:
Serenely Thou destroyest
The dearest hope of man!
A moan for the hapless dying,

A moan for the helpless dead,
A moan for the thousands lying
On yonder hillock dread.
A moan for the passed and passing
Let us, the living, give;
And then, our voices massing,
A groan for those that live.