The “still, small voice,” which breathes of “love divine,”
Steals o’er the spirit like the singing rain
To blossoms by the summer lightning crushed.
Shrouded in beauty, flows the fountain calm.
In dewy light the feelings sparkle on,
For every wave of thought is full of prayer.
Within its holy sanctuary hushed,
So softly beats the bosom purified,
So sweet the slumber of a soul forgiven, —
While blended with its harmony of thought