But Who Shall See. (Air.--Stevenson.)

But who shall see the glorious day
    When, throned on Zion's brow,
The LORD shall rend that veil away
    Which hides the nations now?^[1]
When earth no more beneath the fear
    Of this rebuke shall lie;^[2]
When pain shall cease, and every tear
    Be wiped from every eye.^[3]

Then, Judah, thou no more shall mourn
    Beneath the heathen's chain;
Thy days of splendor shall return,
    And all be new again.^[4]

The Fount of Life shall then be quaft
    In peace, by all who come;^[5]
And every wind that blows shall waft
    Some long-lost exile home.

Thomas Moore

Thomas Moore was an Irish poet, singer, and songwriter, celebrated for his Irish Melodies, which are now considered a staple of Irish cultural heritage. Born on May 28, 1779, in Dublin, Ireland, Moore gained fame for his lyrical songs, many of which were set to traditional Irish tunes. Not only a poet, but he was also a staunch advocate of Irish nationalism, often incorporating themes of national identity and resistance into his work. Moore's influential collection 'Irish Melodies' became popular in both Ireland and Britain and helped to define the literary output of the era. He passed away on February 25, 1852, but his legacy in Irish literature and music endures.

Thomas Moore

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXIV.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Oh For The Swords Of Former Time!

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Song.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Odes Of Anacreon - Ode XXIX.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Awake, Arise, Thy Light Is Come. (Air.--Stevenson.)

Awake, arise, thy light is come;^[1]
    The nations, that before outshone thee,
Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb--
    The glory of the Lord is on thee!

Arise--the Gentiles to thy ray,
    From every nook of earth shall cluster;
And kings and princes haste to pay
    Their homage to thy rising lustre.^[2]

Lift up thine eyes around, and see
    O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters,
Thy exiled sons return to thee,
    To thee return thy home-sick daughters.^[3]

And camels rich, from Midians' tents,
    Shall lay their treasures down before thee;
And Saba bring her gold and scents,
    To fill thy air and sparkle o'er thee.^[4]

See, who are these that, like a cloud,^[5]
    Are ...

Thomas Moore

Lord, Who Shall Bear That Day. (Air.--Dr. Boyce.)

Lord, who shall bear that day, so dread, so splendid,
    When we shall see thy Angel hovering o'er
This sinful world with hand to heaven extended,
    And hear him swear by Thee that time's no more?^[1]
When Earth shall feel thy fast consuming ray--
Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that day?

When thro' the world thy awful call hath sounded--
    "Wake, all ye Dead, to judgment wake, ye Dead!"
And from the clouds, by seraph eyes surrounded,
    The Saviour shall put forth his radiant head;^[2]
While Earth and Heaven before Him pass away^[3]--
Who, Mighty God, oh who shall bear that day?


When, with a glance, the Eternal Judge shall sever
    Earth's evil spirits from the pure and bright,
And say to those, "Depart f...

Thomas Moore

Oh Thou Who Dry'st The Mourner's Tear. (Air.--Haydn.)

        "He healeth the broken in heart and bindeth up their wounds,"
        --Psalm. cxlvii. 3.


Oh Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear,
    How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived and wounded here,
    We could not fly to Thee.
The friends who in our sunshine live,
    When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,
    Must weep those tears alone.
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart,
    Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
    Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
    And even the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears
    Is dimmed and vanished too,
Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom,
    Did not thy Wing of Love...

Thomas Moore

Go Forth To The Mount, (Air.--Stevenson.)

Go forth to the Mount; bring the olive-branch home,^[1]
And rejoice; for the day of our    freedom is come!
From that time,^[2] when the moon upon Ajalon's vale,
    Looking motionless down,^[3] saw the kings of the earth,
In the presence of God's mighty champion grow pale--
    Oh, never had Judah an hour of such mirth!
Go forth to the Mount--bring the olive-branch home,
And rejoice, for the day of our freedom is come!

Bring myrtle and palm--bring the boughs of each tree
That's worthy to wave o'er the tents of the Free.^[4]
From that day when the footsteps of Israel shone
    With a light not their own, thro' the Jordan's deep tide,
Whose waters shrunk back as the ark glided on^[5]--
    Oh, never had Judah an hour of ...

Thomas Moore

Whene'er I See Those Smiling Eyes.

Whene'er I see those smiling eyes,
    So full of hope, and joy, and light,
As if no cloud could ever rise,
    To dim a heaven so purely bright--
I sigh to think how soon that brow
    In grief may lose its every ray,
And that light heart, so joyous now,
    Almost forget it once was gay.

For time will come with all its blights,
    The ruined hope, the friend unkind,
And love, that leaves, where'er it lights,
    A chilled or burning heart behind:--
While youth, that now like snow appears,
    Ere sullied by the darkening rain,
When once 'tis touched by sorrow's tears
    Can ever shine so bright again.

Thomas Moore

Rhymes On The Road. Extract I. Geneva.

View of the Lake of Geneva from the Jura.^[1]--Anxious to reach it before the Sun went down.--Obliged to proceed on Foot.--Alps.--Mont Blanc.--Effect of the Scene.


'Twas late--the sun had almost shone
His last and best when I ran on
Anxious to reach that splendid view
Before the daybeams quite withdrew
And feeling as all feel on first
    Approaching scenes where, they are told,
Such glories on their eyes will burst
    As youthful bards in dreams behold.

'Twas distant yet and as I ran
    Full often was my wistful gaze
Turned to the sun who now began
    To call in all his out-posts rays,
And form a denser march of light,
Such as beseems a hero's flight.
Oh, how I wisht for JOSHUA'S power,
To stay the brightness of that hour...

Thomas Moore