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Thomas Moore - No, Not More Welcome
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No, not more welcome the fairy numbers 
   Of music fall on the sleeper`s ear, 
When half awaking from fearful slumbers, 
   He thinks the full quire of heaven is near — 
Than came that voice, when, all forsaken, 
   This heart long had sleeping lain, 
Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken 
   To such benign blessed sounds again. 

Sweet voice of comfort! `twas like the stealing 
   Of summer wind through some wreathed shell — 
Each secret winding, each inmost feeling 
   Of all my soul echoed to its spell. 
`Twas whisper`d balm — `twas sunshine spoken! — 
   I`d live years of grief and pain 
To have my long sleep of sorrow broken 
   By such benign blessed sounds again.
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