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IN PRAYER.
Then, when so many numbers thrill
My heart with music sweet and low,
No wonder that, like mountain rill,
It swells to overflow!
Deep in its inmost cells they throng,—
Affection's every sainted one,—
Then rise until they burst in song,
And sometimes overrun!
My heart with music sweet and low,
No wonder that, like mountain rill,
It swells to overflow!
Deep in its inmost cells they throng,—
Affection's every sainted one,—
Then rise until they burst in song,
And sometimes overrun!
IN PRAYER.
Lowly she kneels in her dim retreat,
And her eyes are dark with the thoughts that fleet
Across their azure, as shadows shy
In the depths of a dark blue summer sky.
And her eyes are dark with the thoughts that fleet
Across their azure, as shadows shy
In the depths of a dark blue summer sky.
Softly one hand to her heart is pressed,
To still the throbbing within her breast;
And the smile hath faded away from her brow,
In the holier thoughts that subdue it now.
To still the throbbing within her breast;
And the smile hath faded away from her brow,
In the holier thoughts that subdue it now.
She hath little to be forgiven, I ween,
For her innocent soul in her eyes is seen,
And small the grief that hath entered there,
To haunt her bosom with dreams of care.
For her innocent soul in her eyes is seen,
And small the grief that hath entered there,
To haunt her bosom with dreams of care.
She seemeth now like a bud in June,
Timid and graceful—to die as soon;
And, as to the rose, to her are given
The dreams of earth with the gifts of heaven,—
Timid and graceful—to die as soon;
And, as to the rose, to her are given
The dreams of earth with the gifts of heaven,—
