The Still, Small Voice
By Nannie J. Rea
It is not in clashing armies,
Rushing o'er the field of fray,
Where the shots and shells are screaming,
Where the dead and wounded lay—
Not in these, though eager listeners,
Do we hear God's voice so sweet,
Sounding o'er life's bitter struggles,
Sending strength life's toils to meet. It is not in life's commotion,
Where the struggling hosts of men
Strive and toil for earth's vain baubles,
Which will burst ere fully won;
It is not in fame's high temple,
That the voice of God is heard,
Though we pause and vainly listen
There to hear his sovereign word. Down in some low path of duty,
Far from power, or wealth, or fame,
Do we hear the still, small whisper,
“I will give thee my new name
’Graved in stone of dazzling whiteness
Which shall stand when all else fail—
This the key to stately mansions
Found beyond earth’s narrow pale.” — Nannie J. Rea, in the Christian Observer.