What in the rolling thunder’s voice,
      What in the ocean’s roar,
    Hears the grand chorus, “O, rejoice!”
      Echo from shore to shore?

    What in the gentle moon doth see
      Pure thoughts and tender love,
    And hears delicious melody
      Around, below, above?

    What bids the savage tempest speak
      Of terror and dismay,
    And wakes the agonizing shriek
      Of guilt that fears to pray?

    It is this ever-living mind;
      This little throb of life
    Hears its own echoes in the wind,
      And in the tempest’s strife;

    To all that’s sweet, and bright, and fair,
      Its own affections gives;
    Sees its own image everywhere,
      Through all creation lives.

    It bids the everlasting hills
      Give back the solemn tone;
    This boundless arch of azure fills
      With accents all its own.

    What is this life-inspiring mind,
      This omnipresent thought? 
    How shall it ever utterance find
      For all itself hath taught?

    To Him who breathed the heavenly flame,
      Its mysteries are known;
    It seeks the source from whence it came,
      And rests in God alone.

WE NEVER PART FROM THEE.

    God, who dwellest everywhere
    God, who makest all thy care,
    God, who hearest every prayer,
        Thou who see’st the heart;

    Thou to whom we lift our eyes. 
    Father, help our souls to rise,
    And, beyond these narrow skies,
        See thee as thou art!

    Let our anxious thoughts be still,
    Holy trust adore thy will,
    Holy love our bosoms fill,
        Let our songs ascend! 
    Dearest friends may parted be,
    All our earthly treasures flee,
    Yet we never part from thee,
        Our eternal Friend.

“I will arise and go to my father.”

    Help me, O God, to trust in thee,
      Thou high and holy One! 
    And may my troubled spirit flee
      For rest to thee alone.

    In thee alone the soul can find
      Secure and sweet repose;
    And thou canst bid the desert mind
      To blossom as the rose.

    Let not this spirit, formed to rise
      Where angels claim their birth,
    Forsake its home beyond the skies,
      And cling to barren earth.

    The bird of passage knows the sign
      That warns him to depart;
    Shall I not heed the voice divine,
      That whispers in my heart,—­

    “Up! plume thy wings, soar far away! 
      No longer idly roam! 
    Fly to the realms of endless day;
      For this is not thy home.”

    This still, small voice, O, may I hear! 
      Ere clouds and darkness come,
    And thunders in my startled ear
      Proclaim my final doom.