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SONGS OF THE SOUL
A whisper by the brook
On grassy altar small—
There I have my nook:—
A crumbling temple shrine,
A little place unseen,
Unwatched, unhedged,
Is where I humbly rest and lean:
A sacred heart
Tear washed and true
Doth draw me with its rue.
I take no bribe
Of strength or wealth
Of caste or church or scribe,
Of fame or faith or festive breath,
But wail for truth;
And e’er the broken distant heart
Doth draw Me e’en to heathen lands,
And My help in silence I impart.
On grassy altar small—
There I have my nook:—
A crumbling temple shrine,
A little place unseen,
Unwatched, unhedged,
Is where I humbly rest and lean:
A sacred heart
Tear washed and true
Doth draw me with its rue.
I take no bribe
Of strength or wealth
Of caste or church or scribe,
Of fame or faith or festive breath,
But wail for truth;
And e’er the broken distant heart
Doth draw Me e’en to heathen lands,
And My help in silence I impart.
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