When the breath divine is flowing, Zephyr-like o'er all things going, And, as the touch of viewless fingers, Softly on my soul it lingers,
Open to a breath the lightest, Conscious of a touch the slightest,— As some calm, still lake, whereon Sinks the snowy-bosomed swan,
And the glistening water-rings Circle round her moving wings When my upward gaze is turning Where the stars of heaven are burning
Through the deep and dark abyss, Flowers of midnight's wilderness, Blowing with the evening's breath Sweetly in their Maker's path
When the breaking day is flushing All the east, and light is gushing Upward through the horizon's haze, Sheaf-like, with its thousand rays,
Spreading, until all above Overflows with joy and love, And below, on earth's green bosom, All is changed to light and blossom:
When my waking fancies over Forms of brightness flit and hover Holy as the seraphs are, Who by Zion's fountains wear
On their foreheads, white and broad, “Holiness unto the Lord!” When, inspired with rapture high, It would seem a single sigh
Could a world of love create; That my life could know no date, And my eager thoughts could fill Heaven and Earth, o'erflowing still!
Then, O Father! Thou alone, From the shadow of Thy throne, To the sighing of my breast And its rapture answerest.
All my thoughts, which, upward winging, Bathe where Thy own light is springing,— All my yearnings to be free Are at echoes answering Thee!
Seldom upon lips of mine, Father! rests that name of Thine; Deep within my inmost breast, In the secret place of mind,
Like an awful presence shrined, Doth the dread idea rest Hushed and holy dwells it there, Prompter of the silent prayer,
Lifting up my spirit's eye And its faint, but earnest cry, From its dark and cold abode, Unto Thee, my Guide and God!
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