SILENCE.
Although no cloister chimes ring there,
The heart is call'd to faith and prayer;
For all Creation's voices tell
The tidings of the Sabbath bell.
The heart is call'd to faith and prayer;
For all Creation's voices tell
The tidings of the Sabbath bell.
Go to the billows, let them pour
In gentle calm, or headlong roar;
Let the vast ocean be thy home,
Thou'lt find a God upon the foam;
In rippling swell or stormy roll,
The crystal waves shall wake thy soul;
And thou shalt feel the hallow'd spell
Of the wide water's Sabbath bell.
In gentle calm, or headlong roar;
Let the vast ocean be thy home,
Thou'lt find a God upon the foam;
In rippling swell or stormy roll,
The crystal waves shall wake thy soul;
And thou shalt feel the hallow'd spell
Of the wide water's Sabbath bell.
The lark upon his skyward way,
The robin on the hedge-row spray,
The bee within the wild thyme's bloom,
The owl amid the cypress gloom,
All sing in every varied tone
A vesper to the Great Unknown;
Above-below-one chorus swells
Of God's unnumber'd Sabbath bells.
The robin on the hedge-row spray,
The bee within the wild thyme's bloom,
The owl amid the cypress gloom,
All sing in every varied tone
A vesper to the Great Unknown;
Above-below-one chorus swells
Of God's unnumber'd Sabbath bells.
SILENCE—A FRAGMENT.
Poverty has a sharp and goading power
To wring the torture-cry, and fill the breath
With frantic curses or despairing sighs;
But her cold, withering grasp is deepest felt
By the fine spirit that endures in Silence,
And trembles lest his shallow purse be sounded
By the sleek friends about him—him who dreads
The taunting mockery that ever waits
To wring the torture-cry, and fill the breath
With frantic curses or despairing sighs;
But her cold, withering grasp is deepest felt
By the fine spirit that endures in Silence,
And trembles lest his shallow purse be sounded
By the sleek friends about him—him who dreads
The taunting mockery that ever waits
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