Communion With God

“Like the low murmur of the secret stream,
Which through dark alders winds its shaded way,
My suppliant voice is heard,—ah, do not deem
That on vain toys I throw my hours away!

“In the recesses of the forest valley,
On the wild mountain, on the verdant sod,
Where the fresh breezes of the morn prevail,
I wander lonely, communing with God.

“When the faint sickness of a wounded heart
Creeps in cold shudd’rings through my sinking frame,
I turn to You,—that holy peace impart,
Which soothes the invokers of Your dreadful name.

“O all-pervading Spirit! Sacred beam!
Parent of life and light! Eternal Power!
Grant me through obvious clouds one transient gleam
Of Your bright essence in my dying hour!”

The Precious Things of God

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