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A poem by Jared Barhite

The Voice

Title:     The Voice
Author: Jared Barhite [More Titles by Barhite]

To me comes a voice that none other
Hath power to hear or to know,
Its cadence so sweet and consoling
Is a whisper so gentle and low,
That the flight of an angel might covet
The silence it bears in its tone;
It speaks to me often, to comfort
My heart when I sit all alone.

I oft close my eyes at the twilight
And that voice comes floating to me
Like the song of some fairy creature
That dwells in a pearl-lighted sea;
When the shades of midnight infold me
That voice lulls me gently to rest,
And tells me the time is not distant
When my spirit shall dwell as its guest.

When shadows of night are departing
And smiling Aurora appears,
That voice of sweet invitation
Falls soothingly into my ears;
A form that I fondly cherish
Like a vision of beauty I see,
That comes on an angelic mission
With counsel and solace for me.

How sweet is the voice that is calling--
Is calling in rapture to me
And leading me close to the border
Where into its home I can see!
It tells me the land is not distant,
That soon when my boat I must launch,
I shall know the voice that is calling,
Is the voice my lost darling Blanche.

* * * * *

When Liberty lies wounded,
And shrieks in wild despair,
Then patriots will cast aside
The party garb they wear,
And honest hands and hearts unite,
To wash away the stain
That narrow-minded partisans
Would selfishly maintain.

Dear Goddess of our fathers!
Our hands shall e'er maintain
The sacred trust of keeping free
The realm where thou dost reign;
And counting not our lives too dear
To offer unto thee,
We dedicate all that we are
To our sweet Liberty.

[The end]
Jared Barhite's poem: Voice