I sat beside her while she sung
A song whose burden I forget,
Save that each listening heart was wrung
And every eyelid wet.

But yet no depth of grief she told
Nor fancy's sad imaginings;
She seemed to have a sacred hold
Of simple human things.

So loving was the singer's mien,
Such gentleness was in her air,
We wept for joy but to have seen
Her spirit surging there;

Until I thought the earth should rise
And shake its load of ancient pain,
And fear should flee, and all men's eyes
Be lit with hope again.