Sonnet Ix. To The Author Of The Poem by Henry Alford

There is a sweet well--spring of purity
In the holy heart, whereout unceasing flow
Its living waters, freshening as they go
The weary deserts of humanity:
There is a spirit in words, which doth express
Celestial converse and divine employ;
A surface of unbroken gentleness,
With an under--current of deep--running joy.
I closed thy holy book this Sabbath--morn;
And it hath spread like billow--calming oil
Upon my spirit, in the loud turmoil
Of ever--striving passions tempest--worn;--
Thy Master's peace be thine, even as thou hast
Over this soul a holy quiet cast.