Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/211

Rh

My soul grows faint with fear! Even as if angel steps had mark'd the sod. I tremble where I move—the voice of God Is in the foliage here!

Is it indeed the night That makes my home so awful? Faithless hearted! 'Tis that from thine own bosom hath departed The inborn gladd'ning light!

No outward thing is changed; Only the joy of purity is fled, And, long from nature's melodies estranged, Thou hear'st their tones with dread.

Therefore, the calm abode, By thy dark spirit, is o'erhung with shade; And, therefore, in the leaves, the voice of God Makes thy sick heart afraid!