The Voice Of Faith

By Lydia Howard Sigourney

The wife from whom the heart of love
Its highest solace drew,
The mother, circled by the plants
That in her shadow grew,
Why, from the climax of her joys
At vigorous noon she fell,
The eye of Reason cannot see,
The voice of Faith can tell.

The Christian, who her Master's cross
With saintly meekness bare,
Who for the sad and needy toil'd
With pity's tireless care,
Why, smitten from her shining course
She sleeps in lowly cell,
The eye of Reason cannot see,
The voice of Faith can tell.

The rapture of the saintly soul
That walk'd with God below,
When rais'd above the sway of sin,
Above the sting of woe,
Where bloom the everlasting bowers,
Where songs of angels swell,
The mortal heart hath ne'er conceived,
The voice of Faith can tell.