And drove thee from my breast. And teach our hearts 'tis goodness, still, I hate the sins that made thee mourn, That grants it, or denies. 5 Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid; 2 Cold on his cradle the dew-drops are shining, 3 Say, shall we yield him in costly devotion, Gems from the mountain, and pearls from the ocean, 4 Vainly we offer each ample oblation, |