With music aerial, still ’tis we.
And ye list, and ye look; but what do ye see?
Can ye hush one sound of our voice to peace,
Or waken one note, when our numbers cease?
Our dwelling is in the Almighty’s hand;
We come and we go at His command:
Though joy or sorrow may mark our track,
His will is our guide, and we look not back:
And if, in our wrath, ye would turn us away
Or win us in gentlest air to play,