Ode to the Winds

Sound on, sound on, ye whistling winds, As though ye fain would seek Some quiet rest ye cannot find, In this cold world so bleak. Sound on, sound on; ye bring to mind The bright and joyful past; The golden hours of sunny yore, That were too bright to last.

Sound on, sound on, ye whistling winds, Like thee, 'mid bitter tears, In vain I sigh for brighter days, In other happier years. Sound on, sound on; ye seem to tell That all things here decay; The brightest flowers the soonest oft Will droop and pass away.

Sound on, sound on, ye whistling winds; Thy strange, mysterious voice Seems like some spirit hovering near, Bidding my heart rejoice. Sound on, sound on; for oh! ye tell Of a long, peaceful home, Beyond this dark and fleeting world, Where sorrows never come.

Sound on, sound on, ye whistling winds; Your moaning, solemn tone Does with this heart so well accord, So dreary, sad and lone. Sound on, sound on; for oh! ye've power To soothe each rising sigh, And waft my spirit far away, Where pleasures never die.