Luyện nghe bài hát Ichabod

(John Whittier & Lorne Entress)

So fallen, so lost, the withdrawn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

Revile him not, the Tempter
A for all
And tears, not scorn and wrath
his fall

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

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

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

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

Of all we and honored
save power remains
A angel's pride of thought
Still in chains

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

Then pay the reverence of old
To his fame
Walk backward averted gaze