In quiet rooms where whispers fade, I hold the words I’m slow to trade. No eager ear nor friendly gaze, Just watchful walls that keep my days.
A thousand thoughts like scattered sand, Slip through the spaces of my hand. Who counts them all? Who hears them fall? He knows. He listens. Knows them all.
I need no crowd to weigh my heart, No vows that fail or drift apart. When voices fail and doors are shut, He is enough. My soul is shut.
The secrets kept in silent air, He gathers gently in His care. The tears I hide behind my eyes, He measures deep. He hears my sighs.
When no one stays and none remain, He mends the seams of unseen pain. In quiet trust I find my part: He is enough to fill my heart
Amid the blooms your hand finds mine, A bond eternal, pure and divine. Through gentle days and trials deep Our vows are roots that never sleep.
Like butterflies in morning air, Our love takes flight beyond despair, No fleeting time, nor passing year, Can dim the truth that keeps us near.
Your Voice a calm that soothes my way It turns the night to brighter day, Through storms that bend the fragile tree, Your strength remains a shield for me.
In every leaf, in skies above, The World is painted with our love, And as the seasons come and go Our Garden blooms, its light will grow
WHERE o'er my head, the deaf'ning Tempest blew,
And Night's cold lamp cast forth a feeble ray;
Where o'er the woodlands, vivid light'nings flew,
Cleft the strong oak, and scorch'd the blossom'd spray;
At morn's approach, I mark the sun's warm glow
O'er the grey hill a crimson radiance throw;
I mark the silv'ry fragrant dew,
Give lustre to the vi'let's hue;
The shallow rivers o'er their pebbly way,
In slow meanders murmuring play;
Day spreads her beams, the lofty forest tree,
Shakes from its moisten'd head the pearly show'r,
All nature, feels the renovating hour,
All, but the sorrowing child of cold ADVERSITY;
For her, the linnet's downy throat
Breathes harmony in vain;
Unmov'd, she hears the warbling note
In all the melody of song complain;
By her unmark'd the flowret's bloom,
In vain the landscape sheds perfume;
Her languid form, on earth's damp bed,
In coarse and tatter'd garb reclines;
In silent agony she pines;
Or, if she hears some stranger's tread,
To a dark nook, ashamed she flies,
And with her scanty robe, o'er-shades her weeping eyes.
Her hair, dishevel'd, wildly plays
With every freezing gale;
While down her cold cheek, deadly pale,
The tear of pensive sorrow strays;
She shuns, the PITY of the proud,
Her mind, still triumphs, unsubdu'd
Nor stoops, its misery to obtrude,
Upon the vulgar croud.
Unheeded, and unknown,
To some bleak wilderness she flies;
And seated on a moss-clad stone,
Unwholesome vapours round her rise,
And hang their mischiefs on her brow;
The ruffian winds, her limbs expose;
Still, still, her heart disdains to bow,
She cherishes her woes.
NOW FAMINE spreads her sable wings;
INGRATITUDE insults her pangs;
While from a thousand eager fangs,
Madd'ning she flies;The recreant crew
With taunting smiles her steps pursue;
While on her burning, bleeding heart,
Fresh wounded by Affliction's dart,
NEGLECT, her icy poison flings;
From HOPE's celestial bosom hurl'd,
She seeks oblivion's gloom,
Now, now, she mocks the barb'rous world,
AND TRIUMPHS IN THE TOMB.
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