HALLOWED BE THY NAME.
He was dear to us all, ay, for many long years;
But, mercy! how's this? my eye's filling with tears.
Oh, how cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,
When Memory plays an old tune on the heart!
But, mercy! how's this? my eye's filling with tears.
Oh, how cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,
When Memory plays an old tune on the heart!
There are drops on my cheek, there's a throb in my breast;
But my song shall not cease, nor my pen take its rest;
Till I tell that old Dobbin still lives to be seen,
With his oats in the stable, his tares on the green.
But my song shall not cease, nor my pen take its rest;
Till I tell that old Dobbin still lives to be seen,
With his oats in the stable, his tares on the green.
His best years have gone by, and the master who gave.
The stern yoke to his youth has enfranchised the slave:
So browse on, my old Dobbin, nor dream of the knife;
For the wealth of a king should not purchase thy life.
The stern yoke to his youth has enfranchised the slave:
So browse on, my old Dobbin, nor dream of the knife;
For the wealth of a king should not purchase thy life.
HALLOWED BE THY NAME.
List to the dreamy tone that dwells
In rippling wave, or sighing tree;
Go, hearken to the old church bells;
The whistling bird, the whirring bee:
Interpret right, and ye will find
'Tis "power and glory" they proclaim:
The chimes, the creatures, waters, wind;
All publish, "hallowed be Thy name!"
In rippling wave, or sighing tree;
Go, hearken to the old church bells;
The whistling bird, the whirring bee:
Interpret right, and ye will find
'Tis "power and glory" they proclaim:
The chimes, the creatures, waters, wind;
All publish, "hallowed be Thy name!"
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