TO A. C. O."Who giveth songs in the night."—Job xxxv. 10.
E giveth thee songs, dear Annie—Songs in the folded night,
When darkness wraps the landscape,
And the stars withdraw their light—
He giveth songs to thee.
Not in the glare and hum of day,
Thou could'st not hear so well,
When the din of life's conflicting tongues,
On thine ear must rise and swell—
He giveth songs to thee.
Thou could'st not hear so well,
When the din of life's conflicting tongues,
On thine ear must rise and swell—
He giveth songs to thee.
When sick and weary, and even sleep
Cannot lull thee to forget
Those waves of grief that wreck'd youth's bark
On shoals of sad regret—
He giveth songs to thee.
Cannot lull thee to forget
Those waves of grief that wreck'd youth's bark
On shoals of sad regret—
He giveth songs to thee.
