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The Story of Justin Martyr, and Other Poems

THE SAME CONTINUED.

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When the mute voice returns from whence it came, The silence of a momentary awe, A brief submission to the eternal law Of beauty doth to every heart proclaim A Spirit has been summoned; yea, the same Whose dwelling is the inmost human heart, Which will not from that home and haunt depart, Which nothing can quite vanquish or make tame. It is the noblest gift beneath the moon, The power, this awful presence to compel Out of the lurking places where it lies Deep-hidden and removed from human eyes: Oh! reverence thou in fear and cherish well This privilege of few, this rarest boon.

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