Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
The Heav’ns I view with their azure bright skies;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
But Heaven to me are her still brighter eyes:
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!”
To the Sun’s morning splendor the poor Indian bows;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
But I dare not worship where I pay my Vows:
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
“His God each morn rises and he can adore;