Thomas Moore, from Irish Melodies, vol. 3
Through grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer'd my way,|
Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that round me lay;
The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burn'd,
Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn'd;
Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free,
And bless'd even the sorrows that made me more dear to thee.
2. Thy rival was honour'd, while thou wert wrong'd and scorn'd,
3. They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail
** "Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty." - St. Paul. 2 Corinthians, iii., 17.
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