The universe of harmony was dumb,
For in the music of that “still small voice,”
Was blent the omnipresence of the Lord.
The prophet shrouded up his lofty brow
Deep in his mantle, and his soul grew still
With silent worship, as his thirsting heart
Drank the rich murmur of that mystic tone
Which told the mighty presence of his God!
The true existence of a gifted soul
Is like that prophet’s vision, and it seems