| |
| THERE is a voice in the western breeze, | |
| As it floats o’er spring’s young roses! | |
| Or sighs among the blossoming trees, | |
| Where the spirit of love reposes: | |
| It tells of the joys of the pure and young, | 5 |
| Ere they wander life’s wildering paths among. | |
| |
| There is a voice in the summer gale, | |
| Which breathes amid regions of bloom! | |
| Or murmurs soft, through the dewy vale, | |
| In moonlight’s tender gloom: | 10 |
| It tells of hope, unblighted yet— | |
| And of hours, that the soul can ne’er forget! | |
| |
| There is a voice in the autumn blast, | |
| That wafts the falling leaf, | |
| When the glowing scene is fading fast— | 15 |
| For the hour of bloom is brief: | |
| It tells of Life—its sure decay— | |
| And of earthly splendors, that pass away! | |
| |
| There is a voice in the wintry storm, | |
| For the blasting spirit is there— | 20 |
| Breathing o’er every vernal charm, | |
| O’er all that was bright and fair; | |
| It tells of death, as it moans around, | |
| And the lonely hall returns the sound. | |
| |
| And there ’s a voice—a small, still voice, | 25 |
| That comes, when the storm is past— | |
| It bids the sufferer’s heart rejoice! | |
| In the haven of peace at last; | |
| It tells of joys, beyond the grave, | |
| And of Him who died a world to save! | 30 |
| |
