When I fell at the feet of the Holy,
And about me a voice said, "Be mine,"
There arose from the depths of my spirit
An echo: "My heart shall be thine."
Do you ask how I live in the Valley?
I weep, and I dream, and I pray;
But my tears are as sweet as the dew-drops
That fall on the roses in May;
And my prayer, like a perfume from censer,
Ascendeth to God night and day.