A word that is whispered in heaven, But cannot be heard below; It lives on the lips of the angels Where'er their pure wings glow; Yet only the "Dream of its Echo" Ever reaches this valley of woe. But I know the word and its meaning; I reached to its height that day, When prayer sank into a silence And my heart was so far away; But I may not murmur the music, Nor the word may my lips yet say. But some day far in the future, And up from the dust of the dead, And out of my lips when speechless The mystical word shall be said, 'Twill come to thee, still as a spirit, When the soul of the bard has fled. The Master's Voice The waves were weary, and they went to sleep; The winds were hushed; The starlight flushed The furrowed face of all the mighty deep. The billows yester eve so dark and wild, Wore strangely now A calm upon their brow, Like that which rests upon a cradled child. The sky was bright, and every single star, With gleaming face, Was in its place, And looked upon the sea -- so fair and far. And all was still -- still as a temple dim, When low and faint, As murmurs plaint, Dies the last note of the Vesper hymn. A bark slept on the sea, and in the bark Slept Mary's Son -- The only One Whose face is light! where all, all else, is dark. His brow was heavenward turned, His face was fair He dreamed of me On that still sea -- The stars He made were gleaming through His hair. And lo! a moan moved o'er the mighty deep; The sky grew dark: The little bark Felt all the waves awaking from their sleep. The winds wailed wild, and wilder billows beat; The bark was tossed: Shall all be lost? But Mary's Son slept on, serene and sweet. The tempest raged in all its mighty wrath, The winds howled on, All hope seemed gone, And darker waves surged round the bark's lone path. The sleeper woke! He gazed upon the deep; He whispered: "Peace! Winds -- wild waves, cease! Be still!" The tempest fled -- the ocean fell asleep. And ah! when human hearts by storms are tossed, When life's lone bark Drifts through the dark And 'mid the wildest waves where all seems lost, He now, as then, with words of power and peace, Murmurs: "Stormy deep, Be still -- still -- and sleep!" And lo! a great calm comes -- the tempest's perils cease. A "Thought-Flower" Silently -- shadowly -- some lives go, And the sound of their voices is all unheard; Or, if heard at all, 'tis as faint as the flow Of beautiful waves which no storm hath stirred. Deep lives these As the pearl-strewn seas. Softly and noiselessly some feet tread Lone ways on earth, without leaving a mark; They move 'mid the living, they pass to the dead, As still as the gleam of a star thro' the dark. Sweet lives those In their strange repose.