THE VOICE.
VOICE is whisp'ring through the pines, Secret to all but me;Naught can'st thou hear but quivering leaves— No words are heard by thee.The hum and din of earthly strife Ring louder on thine ear,And drown the tender words that fall On memory's sacred bier.
Long, long ago that same sweet voice Was heard upon a sea;'Twas borne on tempest through the storm, O'er waves of Galilee.
That voice is whisp'ring thro' the pines— That same sweet voice to me;It says, "Lift up thy burdened heart, Thy Saviour speaks to thee;
