Luyện nghe bài hát Ichabod

(John Whittier & Lorne Entress)

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

Revile him not, the hath
A for all
And pitying tears, not scorn and
his fall

Oh dumb be passion's rage
When he who
Have up and led his age
Falls back in

Scorn, would the laugh to mark
A bright driven
Fiend-goaded down the endless
hope and heaven

Let not the land proud of him
him now
Nor brand deeper shame his dim
brow

But let its humbled instead
From sea to
A lament, as for the dead
In make

Of all we loved and
Naught save power
A angel's pride of thought
strong in chains

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

Then pay the of old days
To his fame
Walk backward with averted