And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.

Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.

Authority forgets a dying king.

And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.

For always roaming with a hungry heart.

Battering the gates of heaven with the storms of prayer.

Forgive my grief for one removed Thy creature whom I found so fair I trust he lives in Thee and there I find him worthier to be loved.