SILENCE
O golden Silence, bid our souls be still, And on the foolish fretting of our care Lay thy soft touch of healing unaware! Once, for a half hour, even in heaven the thrill Of the clear harpings ceased the air to fill With soft reverberations. Thou wert there, And all the shining seraphs owned thee fair— A white, hushed Presence on the heavenly hill. Bring us thy peace, O Silence! Song is sweet; Tuneful is baby laughter, and the low Murmur of dying winds among the trees, And dear the music of Love’s hurrying feet; Yet only he who knows thee learns to know The secret soul of loftiest harmonies.