There is found a tiny sea shell,
Half-imbedded in the sand,
Sometimes flashing in the moonlight,
Like a diamond on the strand.
And from out the winding chambers
That are hid within the shell,
Ever steals a curious music,
That doth never sink nor swell.
But, like the far-off voice of ocean,
Murmurs forth its monotone,
Holding thus within its bosom
E’er an ocean of its own.
Thus the sea shells ever gather
Little oceans in their breasts,
Which do echo there for ever
Ocean’s hymn, which never rests.
Thus the soul will echo music,
Born in heaven, and not of earth;
And give praises all, for ever,
To the One that gave it birth.
GOD IS GOOD.
Morn amid the mountains,
Lovely solitude,
Gushing streams and fountains,
Murmur, “God is good.”
Now the glad sun, breaking,
Pours a golden flood;
Deepest vales awaking,
Echo, “God is good.”
Wake and join the chorus,
Man with soul endued!
He, whose smile is o’er us,
God,—our God,—is good.