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FAINTLYas tolls the evening chime
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time;
Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We’ll sing at St. Anne’s our parting hymn.
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight’s past.
Why should we yet our sail unfurl?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl;
But when the wind blows off the shor
O sweetly we’ll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight’s past.
Utaw´a’s tide! this trembling moon
Shall see us float over thy surges soon
Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers;
O grant us cool heavens and favoring airs.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight’s past.
— THOMAS MOORE