On Arnolds-Wold
On Arnolds-wold—on Arnolds-wold in May—
O! wild, dear joys that sorrows can not kill;
These matchless wonders have not passed away,
And I yet live, to love, to sing them still.
Enough—enough:—Ye fragrant winds that blow
From some sweet, heavenly land—I know not where
Ye bend your unseen flight, nor can I know—
But, oh, I pray from my soul's deep despair,
When ye return from wandering here and there
Upon this bourne which now doth live anew,
Bear ye to Him, your Master, when ye go,
My heart's one longing wish, my soul's one prayer,
That when dark night hath hid this land from view
I yet shall wake to find a land as fair.
O! wild, dear joys that sorrows can not kill;
These matchless wonders have not passed away,
And I yet live, to love, to sing them still.
Enough—enough:—Ye fragrant winds that blow
From some sweet, heavenly land—I know not where
Ye bend your unseen flight, nor can I know—
But, oh, I pray from my soul's deep despair,
When ye return from wandering here and there
Upon this bourne which now doth live anew,
Bear ye to Him, your Master, when ye go,
My heart's one longing wish, my soul's one prayer,
That when dark night hath hid this land from view
I yet shall wake to find a land as fair.
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