III.
All stringlessly hung in the willow's sad tree, As dead as her dead-leaf, those mute harps must be: Our hands may be fettered--our tears still are free For our God--and our Glory--and Sion, Oh _Thee!_
1815.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
All stringlessly hung in the willow's sad tree, As dead as her dead-leaf, those mute harps must be: Our hands may be fettered--our tears still are free For our God--and our Glory--and Sion, Oh _Thee!_
1815.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.