The Still, Small Voice

Amid the thunder of the daily scroll, 

The roar of fear that claims the soul, 

There speaks a voice no storm can drown— 

A whisper from the heart’s own crown. 

Not in the fire, the quake, the wind, 

But in the silence deep within 

The still, small voice of Love Divine 

Invites the soul to realign.

Noah heard it in the falling rain; 

Lot listened through the city’s pain; 

The fish spoke Manu’s hidden name— 

Each one who turned and did the same 

Built ark or mountain, vessel true, 

And carried what the world would lose.

In this age of lonely isolation, 

When headlines scream their desolation, 

The voice still calls, though faint it seems, 

Through prayer, through stillness, through our dreams. 

It says: Awake, prepare the light; 

Build now the ark within your sight— 

Not wood or stone, but silent prayer, 

A vessel formed of loving care.

One by one the souls who hear 

Begin to build what will appear 

When all the outer floods subside— 

A remnant walking side by side, 

Or even one, alone but strong, 

Who listened well and sang the song 

The still, small voice has always sung: 

“Fear not. The work is just begun.”

The voice that spoke in ancient days 

Still whispers in our hidden ways. 

Attune the ear, still every cry, 

And let the small voice draw you nigh. 

The ark is ready when you are— 

The voice has never journeyed far.

“The Still, Small Voice” by Tyla Gabriel

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