THE light is ever silent ;
It sparkles on morn's million gems of dew,
It flings itself into the shower of noon,
It weaves its gold into the cloud of sunset,
Yet not a sound is heard; it dashes full
On yon broad rock, yet not an echo answers ;
It lights in myriad drops upon the flower,
Yet not a blossom stirs; it doth not move
The slightest film of floating gossamer,
Which the fain touch of insect's wing would shiver.

The light is ever pure,
No art of man can ever rob it of its beauty,
Nor stain its unpolluted heaven lines.
It is the fairest, purest thing in nature ;
Fit type of heavenly truth, which is all pure.

Truth, too, with noiseless grandeur
Upon its heavenly mission goeth forth.
It shines upon a sin-polluted earth
Until its vileness doth so vile appear,
That men despise, then banish it from sight.
It shineth on, till 'neath its rays benign
The buds of heav'nly virtue do appear,
And earth gives promise of a summer time.
And so 'twill ever shine, till fruit and flower
Of virtue, peace and praise bedeck the earth.

Truth, like the light, is pure ;
And no device to rob it of its glory,
Or drag it down base purposes to serve,
Can e'er succeed. Ah, no! its heav'nly glory
Shall in due time the universe pervade.

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O LOVE divine, that stooped to share
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear !
On thee we cast each earthborn care,
Feeling at rest while thou art near.