Of many gifts bestowed on earth
To cheer a lonely hour,
Oh is there one of equal worth
With music-s magic power?
-Twill charm each angry thought to rest,
-Twill gloomy care dispel,
And ever we its power can test,-
All nature breathes its spell.

There-s music in the sighing tone
Of the soft, southern breeze
That whispers thro- the flowers lone,
And bends the stately trees,
And-in the mighty ocean-s chime,
The crested breakers roar,
The wild waves, ceaseless surge sublime,
Breaking upon the shore.

There-s music in the bulbul-s note,
Warbling its vesper lay
In some fair spot, from man remote,
Where wind and flowers play;
But, oh! beyond the sweetest strain
Of bird, or wave, or grove
Is that soother of our hours of pain-
The voice of those we love.

When sorrow weigheth down the heart
The night birds sweetest lay-
The harp-s most wild and thrilling art-
Care cannot chase away;
But let affection-s voice be heard,
New springs of life -twill ope,-
One word-one little loving word-
Will bring relief and hope.