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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=368593" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Voice Calling</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">IN the hush of April weather, <br>With the bees in budding heather, <br>And the white clouds floating, floating, and the sunshine falling broad; <br>While my children down the hill <br>Run and leap, and I sit still,-- <br>Through the silence, through the silence art Thou calling, O my God? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through my husband's voice that prayeth, <br>Though he knows not what he sayeth, <br>Is it Thou who in Thy Holy Word hast solemn words for me? <br>And when he clasps me fast, <br>And smiles fondly o'er the past, <br>And talks, hopeful, of the future--Lord, do I hear only Thee? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not in terror nor in thunder <br>Comes Thy voice, although it sunder <br>Flesh from spirit, soul from body, human bliss from human pain: <br>All the work that was to do, <br>All the joys so sweet and new <br>Which Thou shewed'st me in a vision--Moses-like--and hid'st again. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">From this Pisgah, lying humbled, <br>The long desert where I stumbled, <br>And the fair plains I shall never reach, seem equal, clear and far: <br>On this mountain-top of ease <br>Thou wilt bury me in peace; <br>While my tribes march onward, unto Canaan and war. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In my boy's loud laughter ringing, <br>In the sigh more soft than singing <br>Of my baby girl that nestles up unto this mortal breast, <br>After every voice most dear <br>Comes a whisper--'Rest not here.' <br>And the rest Thou art preparing, is it best, Lord, is it best? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Lord, a little, little longer!' <br>Sobs the earth-love, growing stronger: <br>He will miss me, and go mourning through his solitary days. <br>And heaven were scarcely heaven <br>If these lambs which Thou hast given <br>Were to slip out of our keeping and be lost in the world's ways. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lord, it is not fear of dying <br>Nor an impious denying <br>Of Thy will, which forevermore on earth, in heaven, be done: <br>But the love that desperate clings <br>Unto these my precious things <br>In the beauty of the daylight, and the glory of the sun. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, Thou still art calling, calling, <br>With a soft voice unappalling; <br>And it vibrates in far circles through the everlasting years; <br>When Thou knockest, even so! <br>I will arise and go.-- <br>What, m little ones, more violets?--Nay, be patient--mother hears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Dinah+Maria+Mulock+Craik">Dinah Maria Mulock Craik</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=368593" data-title="The Voice Calling de Dinah Maria Mulock Craik" data-description="IN the hush of April weather, 
With the bees in budding heather, 
And the white clouds floating, floating, and the sunshine falling broad; 
While my children down the hill 
Run and leap, and I sit still,-- 
Through the silence, through the silence..."></div>
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