Maxioms by Lord Alfred Tennyson
But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.
But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.
The time draws near the birth of Christ:
The moon is hid; the night is still;
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The time draws near the birth of Christ:
The moon is hid; the night is still;
The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.
I know not which way to turn. [I am in a quandary.]
I know not which way to turn. [I am in a quandary.]
And rolling far along the gloomy shores
The voice of days of old and days to be.
And rolling far along the gloomy shores
The voice of days of old and days to be.
A savior of the silver-coasted isle.
A savior of the silver-coasted isle.
