* * * —.
O, holy Silence! Atmosphere of God!
To thee in tribute doth the Nation
bow,
As through the land, the slowly moving train
Beareth the precious burden, silent
now.
Thousands on thousands by the roadsides stand,
Heads bared and silent; never
word nor sound
From man nor woman, nor from little child,
To break the silence, stricken,
awed, profound.
Silent the voice of love and woe and grief,
Silent the tones of envious, ignorant
hate;
Silent the slurs and sneers of petty minds,
Silent the critics—though, alas!
too late.
The Nation bows in silence to God’s will.
Dying, he said, “His will be done,
not ours.”
O, Silence! last, till God through thee shall speak,
And make, of all the centuries
but hours—
Till “Nearer, my God, to Thee,” the chorus rise
From every nation, kindred, people,
tongue;
Through all the world for which the Saviour died
May this appeal from shore to
shore be sung.
And then the Church which He ordained shall rise
Upon the Rock His holy feet had
trod,
The end and crown of all His earthly life—
Communion of the human heart with
God.
