HARPS AND HEARTS.
There are harps in our breasts
Of most delicate make,
And many the tones which are heard;
Now plaintive, now gay,
Now so soft is their lay.
The notes seem like those of a bird.
Of most delicate make,
And many the tones which are heard;
Now plaintive, now gay,
Now so soft is their lay.
The notes seem like those of a bird.
These harps God has tuned.
Though broken they seem,
They respond to their Maker's command;
And mortals, too, play them,
Words, deeds, and looks sway them,
A breath hath these instruments fanned.
Though broken they seem,
They respond to their Maker's command;
And mortals, too, play them,
Words, deeds, and looks sway them,
A breath hath these instruments fanned.
Our hearts are these harps—
How sweet are their strains
When sympathy touches the chords;
Then such melody's given,
'Tis echoed in heaven,
Though whispered on earth are the words.
How sweet are their strains
When sympathy touches the chords;
Then such melody's given,
'Tis echoed in heaven,
Though whispered on earth are the words.
