From the deep organ of the forest shades,
Or buried streams, unheard amidst their glades
Till the bright day is done;
But in the human breast
A thousand still small voices I awake,
Strong, in their sweetness, from the soul to shake
The mantle of its rest.
I bring them from the past:
From true hearts broken, gentle spirits torn,
From crush’d affections, which, though long o’erborne,