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IRISH SONGS AND LTR1CS 355 |
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For life is short, my brothers,— And labor wastes it sore,—
Why toil to gladden others
When you shall breathe no more ?
" Oh ! come with footstep springing,
With empty hands and free, And tread the green earth singing
' The world was made for me ! ' Pray amid nature's sweetness
In pillared forest glade, Content with the incompleteness
Of fanes that the Lord has made ! "
The builders, never heeding,
Kept piling stone on stone, Their hands with toil were bleeding —
I went my way alone. Prayed in the forest temple
And ate the wild-bee's store; My life was pure and simple —
What would the Lord have more ?
The years, like one long morning,
They all flew swiftly by; Old age with little warning
Came creeping softly nigh. Now (be we all forgiven !)
I longed to see, alas ! What the builders had raised to heaven
Instead of the tender grass.
I heard a sweet bell ringing Over the world so wide; |
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