41
THE VOICE I LOVE.
That voice—that thrilling voice—again it steals
In silvery sweetness on my sullen ear,
And every quickening pulse its magic feels,—
It seems my weary, sinking soul to cheer.
In silvery sweetness on my sullen ear,
And every quickening pulse its magic feels,—
It seems my weary, sinking soul to cheer.
By coldness and neglect my once warm heart,
With every kindly human feeling rife,
Is seared and broken—dying with the smart:
But that sweet voice still warms it into life.
With every kindly human feeling rife,
Is seared and broken—dying with the smart:
But that sweet voice still warms it into life.
When morning wakes, and brings a load of care,
And overwhelms me with a thousand ills;
I humbly kneel before my God in prayer,
And every thought with holy ardour fills.
And overwhelms me with a thousand ills;
I humbly kneel before my God in prayer,
And every thought with holy ardour fills.
But still exists the sense of wordly woe,
And grief around her chilling influence flings,
Until that voice, in full harmonious flow,
A soothing balm to my sad spirit brings.
And grief around her chilling influence flings,
Until that voice, in full harmonious flow,
A soothing balm to my sad spirit brings.
Like Orpheus' tones, which deeply thrilled around,
And back to earth restored his long-lost wife:
So that dear voice,—from their deep sleep profound,—
Calls all my withered feelings into life.
And back to earth restored his long-lost wife:
So that dear voice,—from their deep sleep profound,—
Calls all my withered feelings into life.
