Tho' yet unseen, may hover round our way,
And see our toil, and hear our daily moan;
And tho' we cannot see their lovely forms,
Nor hear full well the whispers of their voice,
May shield us oft in life's tempestuous storms,
And when we victories gain, with us rejoice.
They whisper thoughts, perhaps, if not word sounds,
And help to waken longings for our rest;
And thus allure our hearts beyond earth's bounds
To joy and home, upon our Saviour's breast.