Ye that, for love of the lowly, so long
Have patiently followed my simple song,
Do ye plain the lot of our Melleff still,
Though free over Amroom he walks at will ?
Then ye know not how dear, if loved from birth,
The dreariest sod of a sin-cursed earth !
Ye know not the bondman's bitter estate,
The soul's keen joy with new freedom elate ;
Ye know not how sweet on a father's head
The oil of gladness unmeasured to shed,
To purple his sunset with purer dye
Than ever had flushed in his morning sky !
Ye know not 'tis blesseder far to see
The idol we worship stretch suddenly
The wings of its glory, and fill the place
With brightness that proveth its heavenly race —
Though at last it soar, in its shining flight,
Too high to be followed by mortal sight —
Oh, blesseder far, than our incense to waste
On what but seems with divinity graced,
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