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WORDS.
Back from the shrouded sepulchre
A word hath summoned forth
A form, that hath its place no more
Among the things of earth.
A word hath summoned forth
A form, that hath its place no more
Among the things of earth.
Words! Heed them well. Some whispered tone
Hath yet a power to fling
A shadow on the brow, the soul
In agony to wring;
A name, forbidden or forgot,
That sometimes unawares
Murmurs upon our wakening lips,
And mingles in our prayers.
Hath yet a power to fling
A shadow on the brow, the soul
In agony to wring;
A name, forbidden or forgot,
That sometimes unawares
Murmurs upon our wakening lips,
And mingles in our prayers.
Oh, words, sweet words! A blessing comes
Softly from kindly lips;
Tender, endearing words, that break
The spirit's drear eclipse.
Oh, are there not some cherished tones
Deep in the heart enshrined?
Uttered but once, they passed, and left
A track of light behind.
Softly from kindly lips;
Tender, endearing words, that break
The spirit's drear eclipse.
Oh, are there not some cherished tones
Deep in the heart enshrined?
Uttered but once, they passed, and left
A track of light behind.
Words! what are words? Ah! know'st thou not
The household names of love?
The thousand tender memories
That float their graves above?
Buried beneath the world's cold tread,
The household names of love?
The thousand tender memories
That float their graves above?
Buried beneath the world's cold tread,
