Charles Kingsley - September 21 1870

Lyrics

Speak low, speak little; who may sing While yonder cannon-thunders boom? Watch, shuddering, what each day may bring: Nor 'pipe amid the crack of doom.' And yet—the pines sing overhead The robins by the alder-pool The bees about the garden-bed The children dancing home from school And ever at the loom of Birth The mighty Mother weaves and sings: She weaves—fresh robes for mangled earth; She sings—fresh hopes for desperate things And thou, too: if through Nature's calm Some strain of music touch thine ears Accept and share that soothing balm And sing, though choked with pitying tears