| lyric | O song, o song, thou helpst the smart
whenever griefs draw nearer,
thy virtue to the wounded heart,
the wounded heart a healer!
O song, o song, thou slakest the thirst,
thou balmst the burning blazes,
thy might, o song, thy might from th’arid breast
the woe and wail forchases, o song.
O song, o song, the silent tears
which down my face are streaming,
thy magig is thy might appears
to honey them redeeming.
O song, o song, o song! |