Luyện nghe bài hát Ichabod

(John Whittier & Lorne Entress)

So fallen, so lost, the light
once he wore
The from his gray hair gone

Revile him not, the Tempter
A for all
And pitying tears, not scorn and
Befit his

Oh dumb be stormy rage
When he who
lighted up and led his age
Falls in night

Scorn, would the angels to mark
A bright driven
Fiend-goaded the endless dark
From and heaven

Let not the once proud of him
him now
Nor brand deeper shame his dim
Dishonored

But let its humbled instead
sea to lake
A long lament, as for the
In sadness

Of all we and honored
Naught save remains
A fallen angel's of thought
Still strong in

All else is gone from those great
The has fled
When faith is lost when dies
The man is

pay the reverence of old days
To his dead
Walk backward averted gaze