Whispers of The Saints

O'er the midnight moorlands praying
Thro' the cypress forests swaying
In the night-wind softly straying
Holy voices fill the air
In the barren branches speaking
By the quiet pools still seeking
Past the shore-cliffs ever peeking
Saintly whispers of their care

Once, I think I half remember
Ere the skies of cold December  
Quench'd my heart’s once fervent ember
Liv’d there such a thing as grace
Skies that now are grey were gleaming
Bright and golden, warm with meaning
Till I learn’d beneath its seeming
Faith alone will light the space

But the stream of Time, swift flowing
Brings the peace of truly knowing
Gently onward, ever going
Past the fields that few may see
And the pilgrim, humbly finding
Sees the sacred stars aligning
Hears the angel's voice divining  
As he journeys toward the sea

Holy wings in ether gliding
Cherubim and Seraphs guiding
Wings unseen but ever biding
Bright against the deepened sky
Shining hopes of bygone gladness
Sacred signs for future kindness
Mingle in the light of stillness
Ever in the soul to lie

Thus the weary, lonely-hearted
From their restless griefs departed
With the saints’ own peace imparted
Find their solace, long suppressed
And beyond the world’s cold sighing
In the quiet hours, relying
On the saints who lead, undying
They find eternal, holy rest