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1811–1896

THE SECRET.

Harriet Beecher Stowe

WHEN winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, And billows wild contend with angry roar, ‘ Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion, That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.

Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth, Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea.

So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest, There is a temple peaceful evermore! And all the babble of life's angry voices Die in hushed stillness at its sacred door.

Far, far away the noise of passion dieth, And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in thee.

O rest of rests! O peace serene, eternal! Thou ever livest and thou changest never; And in the secret of thy presence dwelleth Fulness of joy, forever and forever.

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THE SECRET. · Harriet Beecher Stowe · Poetry Cove