Forest Sounds

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WHO, in the pines, may hear low voices raised
  To chant in suppliant tone?
They who, in Sorrow's tranquil eyes, have gazed,
  O'ercome, endured alone.

The joyous whispering of lesser trees,
  Who can interpret this?
Awakened souls whose inmost sanctities
  Know Love's revealing kiss.

And lowly vines, the tender clinging things
  That dwell amid the sod?
For pillowed ear, a carillon ne'er rings,
  Unless at peace with God.

© Alma Frances McCollum