html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }ITHOUT,—the roar of the unquiet world
Rushes unceasing as a wintry wind;
Within,—the whirl of life seems left behind,
The storm is lulled, the sails awhile are furled:
And as a hush upon the troubled soul,
Stilling its waves, the chanted prayers ascend;
Then, swelling like the mighty waters' roll,
In songs of praise commingling voices blend:
Oh, "mid this scene of toil and busy strife,
Who would not gladly fly for refuge here,
Escape for one short hour the war of life,
And seek fresh strength to bear,—fresh hope to cheer?
Alas! how few that comfort strive to find,—
Bring here their griefs—and leave at least the sting behind!
E.