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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 167 |
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She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking: Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking !
He had lived for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him.
O make her a grave where the sunbeams rest When they promise a glorious morrow ;
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west, From her own loved island of sorrow ! |
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SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL
Miriam's Song
" And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances."—Exodus 15 : 20.
SOUND the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! Jehovah has triumphed—his people are free. Sing—for the pride of the tyrant is broken, His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave — How vain was their boast, for the Lord hath but spoken, And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea; Jehovah has triumphed—his people are free. |
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