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A STILL, SMALL VOICE.
It speaks, perhaps, of promises we've broken,
Of bright hopes we have killed ;
Of words of kindness we have left unspoken,
And duties unfulfilled ;
Of some weak brother, fallen now past hoping,
Whose feet we might have stayed ;
Some erring sister in the darkness groping,
To whom we gave no aid.
Anon, it utters words of solemn warning,
" Repent, believe, obey ; "
And we resolve, but with the light of morning
We put such thoughts away.
Oh, hear the voice ! oh, heed its earnest pleading
While there are time and room,
Lest, at the last, upon thy ear unheeding
It peal, the trump of doom.
