My Father's Voice

Within the secret precincts of my heart—
So deeply welled not e'en mine eyes may see—
There bides a voice which of mine own seems part,
So oft I hear it softly speak with me.

Full gentle are its words, yet strangely strong:
Nor stern rebuke nor hasty reprimand
Corrects my faltering sense of right and wrong,
But its persuasion helps me understand.

In quiet hours, when senses vain are still,
I hear it best, and from its wisdom glean
A richer grain than springs where blind self-will
Cumbereth much with that mine eyes have seen.

But not of ease it speaks, nor place and power,
Nor of the gold men seek for in their greed,
But tells of man's supremely precious dower
As child of Him who doth the ravens feed.

O voice devine! no more I seek to gain
What men deem wealth, but I shall list to Thee
And substance find, the wealth that doth sustain—
The priceless pearls of Truth Thou givest me.

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