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.