I walk down the Valley of Silence — Down the dim, voiceless valley — alone! And I hear not the fall of a footstep Around me, save God's and my own;
And the hush of my heart is as holy As hovers where angels have flown! Long ago was I weary of voices Whose music my heart could not win;
Long ago was I weary of noises That fretted my soul with their din; Long ago was I weary of places Where I met but the human — and sin.
I walked in the world with the worldly; I craved what the world never gave; And I said: “In the world each Ideal, That shines like a star on life's wave,
Is wrecked on the shores of the Real, And sleeps like a dream in a grave.” And still did I pine for the Perfect, And still found the False with the True;
I sought‘ mid the Human for Heaven, But caught a mere glimpse of its Blue: And I wept when the clouds of the Mortal Veiled even that glimpse from my view.
And I toiled on, heart-tired, of the Human, And I moaned‘ mid the mazes of men, Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar And I heard a voice call me. Since then
I walk down the Valley of Silence That lies far beyond mortal ken. Do you ask what I found in the Valley? ‘ Tis my Trysting Place with the Divine.
And I fell at the feet of the Holy, And above me a voice said: “Be mine.” And there arose from the depths of my spirit An echo — “My heart shall be Thine.”
Do you ask how I live in the Valley? I weep — and I dream — and I pray. But my tears are as sweet as the dewdrops That fall on the roses in May;
And my prayer, like a perfume from censers, Ascendeth to God night and day. In the hush of the Valley of Silence I dream all the songs that I sing;
And the music floats down the dim Valley, Till each finds a word for a wing, That to hearts, like the Dove of the Deluge, A message of Peace they may bring.
But far on the deep there are billows That never shall break on the beach; And I have heard songs in the Silence That never shall float into speech;
And I have had dreams in the Valley Too lofty for language to reach. And I have seen Thoughts in the Valley — Ah! me, how my spirit was stirred!
And they wear holy veils on their faces, Their footsteps can scarcely be heard; They pass through the Valley like virgins, Too pure for the touch of a word!
Do you ask me the place of the Valley, Ye hearts that are harrowed by Care? It lieth afar between mountains, And God and His angels are there:
And one is the dark mount of Sorrow, And one the bright mountain of Prayer.
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