Chorus (from the Gysbrecht van Aemstel)

What sweeter brighter bliss
Can charm a world like this,
Than sympathy's communion;
Two spirits mingling in their purest glow,
And bound in firmest union
In love, joy, woe!

The heart-encircling bond,
Which binds the mother fond
To the sweet child, that sleepeth
Upon the bosom whence he drinks his food —
So close around that heart his spirit creepeth —
It binds the blood.

But there's a firmer band,
When mortals hand in hand,
Whom joy nor grief can sever,
Tread the long paths of years secure,
Led on by sacred peace and virtue ever
As nature pure.

'Tis then that love's control
Commingles soul with soul,
Spirit to spirit gathers
A love that's stronger even than fate, —
'Tis like an effluence from the eternal Father's,
So bright — so great!

It cannot be subdued,
It is the noblest good
That nature's hand has given:
'Tis like a well-cemented wall
That boldly rears its front to heaven,
And suffers all.

If thou have seen the love
Of the fond turtle dove,
On the dry branch bewailing
Her absent mate in mournful song,
Pouring her sorrow unavailing
Her whole life long: —

So Aemstel's fair — She stood
And melted like a flood
To tears; — her race was scatter'd,
Her subjects and her city razed,
And all in blood and darkness shatter'd,
E'en while she gazed.

O God! disperse the gloom,
Lead her tired spirit home
From this dark path of sadness;
For hope and peace stretch out their hands,
And bid her look in joy and gladness
Where Aemstel stands.