Luyện nghe bài hát Ichabod

(John Greenleaf Whittier & Entress)

So fallen, so lost, the withdrawn
Which once he
The glory his gray hair gone

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

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

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

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

But let its humbled sons
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
Still strong in

All else is from those great eyes
The soul has
When is lost when honor dies
The man is

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