Let the Slave Lyrics

Song	Let the Slave
Artist	Van Morrison
Album	A Sense of Wonder
Download	Image LRC TXT

	作词 : Blake, Mitchell, Westbrook
	Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field
	Let him look up into the heavens and laugh in the bnght air
	Let the inchained soul, shut up in darkness and in sighing
	Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary Years
	Rose and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open;
	And let his wife and children return from the oppressor's scourge
	They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream
	Singing: The sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning
	And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night
	For empire is no more and now the Lion and Wolf shall cease
	For everything that lives is holy
	For everything that lives is holy
	For everything that lives is holy
	For everything that lixes is holy
	What is the price of Experience? Do men buy it for a song?
	Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price
	Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children
	Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy
	And in the wither'd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain
	It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun
	And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn
	It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted
	To speak the laws of prudence to the homeless wanderer
	To listen to the hungry raven's cry in wintry season
	When the red blood is fill'd with wine and with the marrow of lambs
	It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements
	To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan;
	To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blast
	To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies' house;
	To rejoice in the blight that covers his field
	And the sickness that cuts off his children
	While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door
	And our children bring fruits and flowers
	Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten
	And the slave grinding at the mill
	And the captive in chains and the poor in the prison
	And the soldier in the field
	When the shatter'd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead
	It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:
	Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me

	zuo ci : Blake, Mitchell, Westbrook
	Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field
	Let him look up into the heavens and laugh in the bnght air
	Let the inchained soul, shut up in darkness and in sighing
	Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary Years
	Rose and look out his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open
	And let his wife and children return from the oppressor' s scourge
	They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream
	Singing: The sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning
	And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night
	For empire is no more and now the Lion and Wolf shall cease
	For everything that lives is holy
	For everything that lives is holy
	For everything that lives is holy
	For everything that lixes is holy
	What is the price of Experience? Do men buy it for a song?
	Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price
	Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children
	Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy
	And in the wither' d field where the farmer plows for bread in vain
	It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer' s sun
	And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn
	It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted
	To speak the laws of prudence to the homeless wanderer
	To listen to the hungry raven' s cry in wintry season
	When the red blood is fill' d with wine and with the marrow of lambs
	It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements
	To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan
	To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blast
	To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies' house
	To rejoice in the blight that covers his field
	And the sickness that cuts off his children
	While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door
	And our children bring fruits and flowers
	Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten
	And the slave grinding at the mill
	And the captive in chains and the poor in the prison
	And the soldier in the field
	When the shatter' d bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead
	It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:
	Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me

	zuò cí : Blake, Mitchell, Westbrook
	Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field
	Let him look up into the heavens and laugh in the bnght air
	Let the inchained soul, shut up in darkness and in sighing
	Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary Years
	Rose and look out his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open
	And let his wife and children return from the oppressor' s scourge
	They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream
	Singing: The sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning
	And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night
	For empire is no more and now the Lion and Wolf shall cease
	For everything that lives is holy
	For everything that lives is holy
	For everything that lives is holy
	For everything that lixes is holy
	What is the price of Experience? Do men buy it for a song?
	Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price
	Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children
	Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy
	And in the wither' d field where the farmer plows for bread in vain
	It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer' s sun
	And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn
	It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted
	To speak the laws of prudence to the homeless wanderer
	To listen to the hungry raven' s cry in wintry season
	When the red blood is fill' d with wine and with the marrow of lambs
	It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements
	To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan
	To see a god on every wind and a blessing on every blast
	To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies' house
	To rejoice in the blight that covers his field
	And the sickness that cuts off his children
	While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door
	And our children bring fruits and flowers
	Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten
	And the slave grinding at the mill
	And the captive in chains and the poor in the prison
	And the soldier in the field
	When the shatter' d bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead
	It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:
	Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me

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