Chorus of Guardian Spirits
We come! We come!
To soften the strokes of fate.
And lead the wanderer back in dreams
To his woodland cot, and his native streams,
And his long-expecting mate.
We come! We come!
To the pillow of him oppressed,
And send him a slumber deep and calm,
And pour in visions a healing balm
To his wounded and aching breast
We come! We come!
To the prisoner’s dungeon deep,
And if he be innocent, pay him well
For the pains endured in his gloomy cell,
Where he waketh but to weep.
We come! We come!
From our bright and happy sphere,
To keep a watch in the silence deep,
O’er the little couch of the babe asleep,
When none but its mother’s near!
