That falls in the heart like the song of a bird,

That gladdens the springtime of memory and youth

And garlands with cedar the banner of Truth,

That moistens the harvesting spot of the brain

Like dew-drops that fall on the meadow of grain

Or that shrivels the germ and destroys the fruit

And lies like a worm at the lifeless root?

I saw a farmer at break of day

Hoeing his corn in a careful way;

An enemy came with a drouth in his eye,

Discouraged the worker and hurried by.

The keen-edged blade of the faithful hoe

Dulled on the earth in the long corn row;

The weeds sprung up and their feathers tossed

Over the field and the crop was—lost.

A sailor launched on an angry bay

When the heavens entombed the face of day

The wind arose like a beast in pain,

A poet passed with a song of God

Hid in his heart like a gem in a clod.

His lips were framed to pronounce the thought,

And the music of rhythm its magic wrought;

Feeble at first was the happy trill,

Low was the echo that answered the hill,

But a jealous friend spoke near his side,

And on his lips the sweet song—died.

A woman paused where a chandelier

Threw in the darkness its poisoned spear;

Weary and footsore from journeying long,

She had strayed unawares from the right to the wrong.

Angels were beck’ning her back from the den,

Hell and its demons were beck’ning her in;

The tone of an urchin, like one who forgives,

Drew her back and in heaven that sweet word—lives.

Words! Words! They are little, yet mighty and brave;

They rescue a nation, an empire save;

They close up the gaps in a fresh bleeding heart

That sickness and sorrow have severed apart,

They fall on the path, like a ray of the sun,

Where the shadows of death lay so heavy upon;

They lighten the earth over our blessed dead,

A word that will comfort, oh! leave not unsaid.