“No, not more welcome the fairy numbers
Of music fall on the sleeper’s ear
When, half awake from fearful slumbers,
He thinks the full choir of heaven is near—
Then came that voice, when, all forsaken,
This heart long had sleeping lain,
Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken
To such benign, blessed sounds again!
“Sweet voice of comfort! ’Twas like the stealing
Of summer wind thro’ some wreathed shell—