 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
Forest Voices.
The forest hath its voices,
Whose sweetness aye rejoices,
Or soothes the spirit wondrously;
Borne on their leafy wings,
They tell of quiet things
And mingle in strange harmony.
Whose sweetness aye rejoices,
Or soothes the spirit wondrously;
Borne on their leafy wings,
They tell of quiet things
And mingle in strange harmony.
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There is a murmuring song,
A cadence soft and long,
Evoking dreams of still delight;
There is a clarion note,
Whose blithesome echoes float,
Chasing the darkling spells of grief and night.
A cadence soft and long,
Evoking dreams of still delight;
There is a clarion note,
Whose blithesome echoes float,
Chasing the darkling spells of grief and night.
There is a whispering sound
Within the forest-bound,
Telling the heart of things unseen;
That nameless holy thrill
Passeth o'er vale and hill
And through the dark and lone ravine.
Within the forest-bound,
Telling the heart of things unseen;
That nameless holy thrill
Passeth o'er vale and hill
And through the dark and lone ravine.
It is a harp sublime
With ever-varying chime,
Awakening feelings ever new;
For, tuned by Him who made
The all-harmonious shade,
Each forest-voice is sweet and true.
With ever-varying chime,
Awakening feelings ever new;
For, tuned by Him who made
The all-harmonious shade,
Each forest-voice is sweet and true.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |