Each brother’s woes feel and the proud tyrant’s scorn—
The way that our holy Redeemer has trod
But leads us through tears to the throne of our God.
I know that thine own gushing spirit is free
As the winds that o’ersweep the high mountains and sea;
Thy genius has burst from all species of chains,
And freedom unbounded swells forth in thy strains;
But while ever exulting on fetterless wing,
Wouldst not the blest boon to each lorn spirit bring?
Thy music, which thrills to the depths of the heart,