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SONGS OF THE SOUL
WHISPERS
Leaves do sigh,
They can not speak
Of One That’s high.
The birds do scream,
They can not sing
What in their bosom springs.
The beasts do howl
In sadness foul,
They can never say as nigh
As doth in their feelings lie.
Since I can sing or say or cry
I will mighty try
To pour out whispers Thine,—one and each
That to heart doth softly reach.
They can not speak
Of One That’s high.
The birds do scream,
They can not sing
What in their bosom springs.
The beasts do howl
In sadness foul,
They can never say as nigh
As doth in their feelings lie.
Since I can sing or say or cry
I will mighty try
To pour out whispers Thine,—one and each
That to heart doth softly reach.
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