Witheren - At the Grave in Waldheim Lyrics

Quiet they lie in their shrouds of rest
Their lids kissed close 'neath the lips of peace
Over each pulseless and painless breast
The hands lie folded and softly pressed
As a dead dove presses a broken nest
Ah, broken hearts were the price of these

The lips of their anguish are cold and still
For them are the clouds and the glooms all past
No longer the woe of the world can thrill
The chords of those tender hearts, or fill
The silent dead- house! The "people's will"
Has snapped asunder the strings at last

"The people's will!" Ah, in years to come
Dearly ye'll weep that ye did not save
Do you not hear now the muffled drum
The trampling feet and the ceaseless hum
Of the million marchers - trembling, dumb
In their tread to a yawning, giant grave

And yet, ah! yet there's a rift of white
'Tis breaking over the martyrs' shrine
Halt there, ye damned ones - it scares the night
As lightning darts from its scabbard bright
And sweeps the face of the sky with light
"No more shall be spilled out the blood-red wine!"

These are the words it has written there
Keen as the lance of the northern mourn
The sword of Justice gleams in its glare
And the arm of Justice, upraised and bare
Is true to strike, aye, 'tis strong to dare
It will fall where the curse of our land is born

No more shall the necks of the nations be crushed
No more to dark Tyranny's throne bend the knee
No more in abjection to ground to the dust
By the brave heart-beats stilled, by the brave voices hushed
We swear that humanity yet shall be free