For works with similar titles, see 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 VOICE.
![A](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/1a/Poems_Eckley_A.jpg/55px-Poems_Eckley_A.jpg)
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.
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.
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;
That same sweet voice to me;
It says, "Lift up thy burdened heart,
Thy Saviour speaks to thee;
"Take off the withered buds that lie
Faded on memory's bier,
And lay fresh lilies on the pall,
Nor one regretful tear;
Faded on memory's bier,
And lay fresh lilies on the pall,
Nor one regretful tear;
"And bind fresh roses on thy brow,
With myrtle interleaved,
And amaranth and immortelle
In chaplet interweaved."
With myrtle interleaved,
And amaranth and immortelle
In chaplet interweaved."
And hear the voice, that thro' the pines
Is speaking still to me
In whispers thro' the quivering leaves,—
"My peace I give to thee."
Is speaking still to me
In whispers thro' the quivering leaves,—
"My peace I give to thee."