by Thomas Moore (1779 - 1852)

As down in the sunless retreats of the...
Language: English 
As down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean,
Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,
So, deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee,
My God! silent to Thee --
Pure, warm, silent, to Thee,

As still to the star of its worship, tho' clouded,
The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,
So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded,
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee,
My GOD! trembling to Thee --
True, fond, trembling, to Thee.

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2010-04-10
Line count: 12
Word count: 92