SPIRIT-VOICES.
BY CHARLES W. BAIRD.
"Hast thou heard ever a spirit-voice,
As in morning's hour it stole
Speaking to thee from the home of its choice,
Deep in the unfathomed soul:
Telling of things that the ear hath not heard,
Neither the mind conceived;
Bringing a balm in each gentle word
Unto the heart bereaved?"
O, I have heard it in days of the spring,
When gladness and joy were rife.
'Twas a voice of hope, that came whispering
Its story of strength and life.
It told me that seasons of vigor and mirth
Follow the night of pain;
And the heaven-born soul, like the flowers of earth,
Withers, to live again!
"Hast thou heard ever a spirit-voice,
At the sunny hour of noon;
Bidding the soul in its light rejoice,
For the darkness cometh soon;
Telling of blossoms that early bloom
And as early pine and fade;
And the bright hopes that must find a tomb
In the dark, approaching shade?"
Yes, I have heard it in summer's hour,
When the year was in its strength:
'T was a voice of faith, and it spoke with power
Of joys that shall come at length.
It told how the holy and beautiful gain
Fruition of peace and love;
And the blest ones, freed from this world of pain,
Flourish and ripen above.
"Hast thou heard ever a spirit-voice,
At the solemn noon of night,
When the fair visions of memory rise
Robed in their fancied light.
When the loved forms that are cold and dead
Pass in their train sad and slow;
And the waking soul, from its pleasures fled,
Turns to its present wo?"
Oft have I heard it when day was o'er;
And the welcome tones I knew:
Like the voices of those who have gone before,
The Beautiful and the True.
And it turned my thoughts to that blissful time
When ceaseth cold winter's breath;
When the free spirit shall seek that clime
Where there is no more death.