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A Voice.
Still, still, the voice is wailing sad
O'er these blue fields of air,
Echoed from billows of the sea,
From the dear land afar.
Alas! my country, golden links
In thy bright chain are riven,
We need the smile of God to cheer,
From these blue rents of heaven.
O'er these blue fields of air,
Echoed from billows of the sea,
From the dear land afar.
Alas! my country, golden links
In thy bright chain are riven,
We need the smile of God to cheer,
From these blue rents of heaven.
1861.
