Vistas of Compassion
A LULLABY heard in a sunfit glade
And a voice in a forest bower;
The tender tones of a youth or maid,
And the wistful want of the world display'd
Comes over the heart with power.
Their message of hunger and aching deep
No tongue can in words translate;
But pity flows over for paths so steep,
For the dreadful height where the white worlds sweep
And the cloud on the golden gate.
O lullaby, soothe the babe's repose!
O voice, on the huntsman call!
A tenderness lives in the heart of the rose —
O sweet-lipp'd lovers! Who knows, who knows,
The secret measure of all?
And a voice in a forest bower;
The tender tones of a youth or maid,
And the wistful want of the world display'd
Comes over the heart with power.
Their message of hunger and aching deep
No tongue can in words translate;
But pity flows over for paths so steep,
For the dreadful height where the white worlds sweep
And the cloud on the golden gate.
O lullaby, soothe the babe's repose!
O voice, on the huntsman call!
A tenderness lives in the heart of the rose —
O sweet-lipp'd lovers! Who knows, who knows,
The secret measure of all?
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