There is a sound in every breeze,
A language all around—
We hear it from the stirring trees,
And from the verdant ground;
That still small voice is everywhere,
Like music from above—
Air, earth, or sea, the voice is there;
It whispers, God is love.

Their leaves the simple flowerets spread
In perfume to the sky—
Go, listen at their dewy bed,
That one soft voice is by—
With plumèd wing the little bird
Sings in the sheltering grove,
And in that song the voice is heard,
It says, Our God is love

O, may that voice in childhood’s days
Within our hearts be found—
O, may we join that hymn of praise
That springs from all around—
And thus on earth begin the song
Now heard in Heav’n above,
Where ever bow the white robed throng
And sing, Our God is love.