“Cast down your bucket where you are,” From burning sands or Polar star From where the iceberg rears its head Or where the kingly palms outspread; ’Mid blackened fields or golden sheaves, Or foliage green, or autumn leaves, Come sounds of warning from afar, “Cast down your bucket where you are.”
What doth it matter if thy years Have slowly dragged ’mid sighs and tears? What doth it matter, since thy day Is brightened now by hope’s bright ray. The morning star will surely rise, And Ethiop’s sons with longing eyes And outstretched hands, will bless the day, When old things shall have passed away.