IV. MISCELLANEOUS WHAT THE BULLET SANG |
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IV. MISCELLANEOUSWHAT THE BULLET SANG
O joy of creation
To be!
O rapture to fly
And be free!
Be the battle lost or won,
Though its smoke shall hide the sun,
I shall find my love,--the one
Born for me! I shall know him where he stands,
All alone,
With the power in his hands
Not o`erthrown;
I shall know him by his face,
By his godlike front and grace;
I shall hold him for a space,
All my own! It is he--O my love!
So bold!
It is I--all thy love
Foretold!
It is I. O love! what bliss!
Dost thou answer to my kiss?
O sweetheart! what is this
Lieth there so cold?
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