Classic Poem

Pale lamp of night, on this low world
How canst thou look so wond'rous fair?
How canst thou on its horrors smile,
Its scenes of misery and despair?

Thou shin'st on many a lowly cot,
Where widow'd mothers wake to weep,
And wearied nature vainly tries
To lose awhile its woes in sleep —

Thou seest full many a soldier brave,
Expiring on the field of death,
Imploring mercy for his babe
And widow with his latest breath.

Oh! turn thee from the dreadful plains
Where Europe's sons unburied lie,
The view would thy pale lustre stain,
And give thy beams a crimson dye.

Ye sons of wealth! on beds of down
Who undisturb'd by grief repose,
Pity the fallen soldier's child,
Pity his friendless widow's woes.