How true! how true!— but words are weak
In sympathy they give the soul,
To music — music, that can speak
All the heart's pain and dole;
Still making us remember most
The love we've lost, the love we've lost.
So weary am I, and so fain
To see his face, to feel his kiss
Thrill rapture through my soul again,
There is no hell like this.—
Ah, God! my God, were it not best
To give me rest, to give me rest?