AMIDST the thrilling leaves, Thy voice At evening's fall drew near; Father! and did not man rejoice That blessed sound to hear? Did not his heart within him burn, Touched by the solemn tone? Not so! -- for, never to return, Its purity was gone. Therefore, midst holy stream and bower, His spirit shook with dread, And called the cedars, in that hour, To veil his conscious head. Oh! in each wind, each fountain-flow, Each whisper of the shade, Grant me, my God! Thy voice to know And not to be afraid! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TOM BOWLING ['S EPITAPH] by CHARLES DIBDIN RIDDLE ON THE LETTER H (1) by CATHERINE MARIA FANSHAWE THE THREE FISHERS by CHARLES KINGSLEY THE NEW TIMON AND THE POETS by ALFRED TENNYSON TWELVE SONNETS: 1. THY SWEETNESS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE SHRINE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |