As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean,

Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,

So deep in my heart, the still prayer of devotion

Unheard by the world, rises silent to thee—

My God! silent to thee—

Pure, warm, silent to thee.

2 As still to the star of its worship, though clouded,

The needle points faithfully o’er the dim sea,

So, dark as I roam thro’ this wintery world shrouded,

The hope of my spirit turns trembling to thee—

My God! trembling to thee—

True, fond, trembling to thee.