Long ago was I weary of voices Whose magic my heart could not win; Long ago was I weary of noises That fretted my soul with their din; Long ago was I weary of places Where I met but the human--and sin. I walked through the world with the worldly; I craved what the world never gave; And I said: “In the world, each Ideal That shines like a star on life’s wave, Is wrecked on the shores of the Real, And sleeps like a dream in a grave.” And still did I pine for the Perfect, And still found the false with the true; I sought ’mid the human for heaven, And caught a mere glimpse of its blue; And I wept when the clouds of the mortal Veiled even that glimpse from my view. And I toiled on, heart-tired of the Human; And I moaned ’mid the mazes of men; Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar And heard a voice call me. Since then I walk down the Valley of Silence That lies far beyond human ken. Do you ask what I found in the Valley? ’Tis my trysting-place with the Divine; And I fell at the feet of the Holy, And above me a voice said: “Be mine!” And there rose from the depths of my spirit An echo--“My heart shall be thine.” Do you ask how I live in the Valley? I weep--and I dream--and I pray. But my tears are as sweet as the dewdrops That fall on the roses in May; And my prayers, like a perfume from censers, Ascendeth to God, night and day. In the hush of the Valley of Silence, I dream all the songs that I sing; And the music floats down the dim Valley, Till each finds a word for a wing, That to men, like the Dove of the Deluge, A message of Peace they may bring. But far on the deep there are billows That never shall break on the beach; And I have heard songs in the Silence That never shall float into speech; And I have had dreams in the Valley Too lofty for language to reach. And I have seen Thoughts in the Valley-- Ah, me! how my spirit was stirred! And they wear holy veils on their faces, Their footsteps can scarcely be heard; They pass through the Valley, like virgins Too pure for the touch of a word! Do you ask me the place of the Valley, Ye hearts that are harrowed by Care? It lieth afar, between mountains, And God and His angels are there; And one is the dark mount of Sorrow, And one the bright mountain of Prayer. MARY, VIRGIN AND MOTHER BY E. SETON Oh, Virgin Joy of all the world art thou, In whose white, fragrant steps the countless throng On souls elect doth follow God with song: Creation’s Queen, whose bright and holy brow The multitude of Saints, like stars, endow With changeful splendors, flashing far and strong: The Maid unshadow’d by the primal wrong: God’s Lily, chosen in His shrine to bow.