Prelude.
to
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
But for thy gracious words, revered of men,
Scarce had I ventured on from year to year
To seek the great world's much-engrossèd ear
With the small rhythmic whispers of my pen.
And now to silence oft withdrawing when
Thy songs so full and sweet, so strong and clear,
And those of others, nobly sung, I hear,
I ask, Why do I aught but listen? Then
Myself makes answer, Who hath given thee
This voice within that thou art fain to still?
Though few and scarcely heard thy notes may be,
Seek not, nor yet withhold. Trust makes amends
For Trust that waits unquestioning God's will,
Hearing His words above the words of friends.
Scarce had I ventured on from year to year
To seek the great world's much-engrossèd ear
With the small rhythmic whispers of my pen.
And now to silence oft withdrawing when
Thy songs so full and sweet, so strong and clear,
And those of others, nobly sung, I hear,
I ask, Why do I aught but listen? Then
Myself makes answer, Who hath given thee
This voice within that thou art fain to still?
Though few and scarcely heard thy notes may be,
Seek not, nor yet withhold. Trust makes amends
For Trust that waits unquestioning God's will,
Hearing His words above the words of friends.
