Maxioms by Thomas Hood
O bed! O bed! delicious bed!
That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
O bed! O bed! delicious bed!
That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go
Over those hoary crests, divinely led!
Art thou that read more
Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go
Over those hoary crests, divinely led!
Art thou that huntress of the silver bow
Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread
Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below,
Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow,
Where hunters never climbed--secure from dread?
One more unfortunate
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
One more unfortunate
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun.
Oh! it was pitiful!
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Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun.
Oh! it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home had she none.
