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     Or those who in their Alpine home
Braved the Crusader's war,
     When the green Vaudois, trembling, heard,
Through all its vales of death,
     The martyr's song of triumph poured
From woman's failing breath.

And gently, by a thousand things
     Which o'er our spirits pass,
Like breezes o'er the harp's fine strings,
     Or vapors o'er a glass,
Leaving their token strange and new
     Of music or of shade,
The summons to the right and true
     And merciful is made.

Oh, then, if gleams of truth and light
     Flash o'er thy waiting mind,
Unfolding to thy mental sight
     The wants of human-kind;
If, brooding over human grief,
     The earnest wish is known
To soothe and gladden with relief
     An anguish not thine own;

Though heralded with naught of fear,
     Or outward sign or show;
Though only to the inward ear
     It whispers soft and low;
Though dropping, as the manna fell,
     Unseen, yet from above,
Noiseless as dew-fall, heed it well,—
     Thy Father's call of love!


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Alpine, Ga. (Georgia, United States) (1)

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1833 AD (1)
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