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There is a sighing in the wood,
A murmur in the beating wave;
The heart has never understood
To tell in words the thoughts they gave.
Yet oft it feels an answering tone,
When wandering on the lonely shore;
And could the lips its voice make known,
‘T would sound as does the ocean’s roar.
And oft beneath the wind-swept pine,
Some chord is struck the strain to swell;
Nor sounds nor language can define,—
‘Tis not for words or sounds to tell.
‘Tis all unheard, Your silent Voice,
Whose goings forth, unknown to all,
Bids bending reed and bird rejoice,
And fills with music Nature’s hall.
Now in the speechless human heart
It speaks, where’er our feet have trod;
Beyond the lips deceitful art
To tell of You, the Unseen God.
