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In the silence that falls on my spirit, When the clamor of life loudest seems,, Comes a voice that floats in tremulous notes, Far over my sea of dreams., I remember the dim old vestry,, And my father kneeling there;, And the old hymns thrill with the memory still, Of my father's voice in prayer.
, I can see the glance of approval, As my part in the hymn I took;, I remember the grace of my mother's face, And the tenderness of her look;, And I knew that a gracious memory, Cast its light on that face so fair,, As her cheek flushed faint--O mother, my saint!--, At my father's voice in prayer.
, 'Neath the stress of that marvelous pleading, All childish dissensions died;, Each rebellious will sank conquered and still, In a passion of love and pride., Ah, the years have held dear voices,, And melodies tender and rare;, But tenderest seems the voice of my dreams--, My father's voice in prayer.