Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
FAIR maiden! who art thou?
Who, with uplifted brow,
And folded hands, and robes of spotless white,
And eyes of heaven's own hue,
Serenely, purely blue,
Stand'st clearly imaged to my mental sight?

What! faded thus away!
Could'st thou, bright form! decay?
Vision, thou'rt changed; but in thy resting place,
Upon my very heart,
Still fixed and bound thou art,
Written by God's finger, there thy name I trace.

Faith! comforter and friend!
Who dost my steps attend,
Holding up Hope, when droop her quivering wings;
Speaking in cheering tone,
And pointing fondly on,
Unto the realm of glorious unseen things.

Sweet witness! thou art sent
Where weary hearts have bent,
And wavered in their trust, to tell of bliss,
Of holiness, and joy,
That time can ne'er destroy,
Of love, that true, and pure, and perfect is.

The image of a star,
Brightening the waves afar;
The scent that breathes from hidden violets forth;
To such we liken thee,
Thou glorious mystery!
Who cheer'st so many hearts that dwell on earth.
A bird from some far scene,
Where we have never been,
Singing a strange, and sweet, and soothing song;
That seems as if the rills,
And low winds of the hills,
Were in its soft, rich numbers borne along.

So into hearts below,
Thy melodies may flow,
Soothing them into dreams of thine own shore;
Where, homewards following thee,
Thy birth-place they shall see,
Nor wish to linger in this cold world more.