No, not more welcome

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 choir 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 thro' some wreathed shell—
Each secret winding, each inmost feeling
  Of my soul echoed to its spell.
'Twas whispered 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.