His feet passed through thy door to press
Upon his Father's business?—
Or still was God's high secret kept?
Nay, but I think the whisper crept
Like growth through childhood. Work and play,
Things common to the course of day,
Awed thee with meanings unfulfill'd,
And all through girlhood, something still'd
Thy senses like the birth of light,
When thou hast trimmed thy lamp at night