The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan :: :: University of Virginia Library

Christ help me! whither would my dark thoughts run,
I look around me, trembling fearfully;
The dreadful silence of the Silent One
Freezes my lips, and all is sad to see.
Hark! hark! what small voice murmurs ‘God made me!’
It is the Brooklet, singing all alone,
Sparkling with pleasure that is all its own,
And running, self-contented, sweet, and free.
O Brooklet, born where never grass is green,
Finding the stony hill and flowing fleet,
Thou comest as a Messenger serene,
With shining wings and silver-sandall'd feet;
Faint falls thy music on a Soul unclean,
And, in a moment, all the World looks sweet!