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Hymnals of the Stone-Campbell Movement

Enos E. Dowling Hymnal Collection

Hymn: What sorrowful sounds do I hear (FL)

Hymnal: The Sacred Melodeon

Date: 1848

Compiler: A S Hayden

Publisher/Printer: A S Hayden

First Line: What sorrowful sounds do I hear

Topic: <no topic given>

Writer: <no first name given> <no last name given>

Composer:

Meter: 8s

Tune: Pastoral Elegy

Hymn Number: <no hymn number given>

Page Number: 184, click to see hymnal pages

Lyics

What sorrowful sounds do I hear

Move slowly along in the gale?

How solemn they fall on my ear,

As softly they pass through the vale.

Sweet Corydon's notes are all o'er -

Now lonely he sleeps in the clay:

His cheeks bloom with roses no more,

Since death call'd his spirit away.



Sweet woodbines will rise round his tomb,

And willows there sorrowing wave;

Young hyacinths freshen and bloom,

While hawthorns encircle his grave.

Each morn, when the sun gilds the East,

(The green grass bespangled with dew,)

He'll cast his brigh beams on the west,

To charm the sad Caroline's view.



O Corydon!  Hear the sad cries

Of Caroline, plaintive and slow;

O spirit!  Look down from the skies,

And pity thy mourner below.

'Tis Caroline's voice in the grove,

Which Philomel hears on the plain,

Then striving the mourner to soothe,

With sympathy joins in her strain.

 

Ye shepherds, so blithesome and young,

Retire from your sports on the green;

Since Corydon's deaf to my song,

The wolves tear the lambs on the plain:

Each swain round the forest will stray,

And sorrowing hang down his head;

His pipe then in sympathy play

Some dirge to young Corydon's shade.



And when the still might has unfurl'd

Her robes o'er the hamlet around,

Gray twilight retires from the world,

And darkness encumbers the ground -

I'll leave my own gloomy abode,

To Corydon's urn will I fly,

There kneeling will bless the just God

Who dwells in bright mansions on high.



Since Corydon hears me no more,

In gloom let the woodlands appear;

Ye oceans!  Be still of your roar;

Let Autumn extend round the year.

I'll hie me through meadow and lawn,

There cull the bright flowrets of May

Then rise on the wings of the morn,

And waft my young spirit away.