The earth again puts on its evening dress;
And wakening yon innumerable stars,
A twilight, milder than the eye of day
And fairer than the calm of night, is spread
O'er universal nature; from above
Shadows descend, solicitous to veil
The sins of the reposing world;—to soothe
Hearts beating with anxiety,—to lull
The tumults of ambition,—quell the thirst
Of greedy avarice,—and to cheat the care
Of wantonness, that crowns its head with thorns.
The perjured tongue, the rapine-scheming head,
The murderous hand, the vile and counterfeit heart,
The eye that sheds false tears—thou, darksome night!
Veil in thy charity—be the o'er-arching tomb,
Tho' for a moment, to the mass of sins
Which morn, alas! shall wake again,—and day
Let loose like bandits on the unshelter'd world.
And O! if in the visions of the night
A ministering angel might descend,—a voice
Be heard in the still silence, to recal
Those wanderers to the fold of blessedness!
Yet midnight shade, tho' dark and deep it be,
Will hide them not from Him, to whom the gloom
Is bright as noon-tide. Let the solemn thought
Come o'er my soul, that even as now in sleep,
So shall we lay us down in death, ere long,
And for a gloomier season. Kings and slaves
Shall then repose upon the self-same bed,
That bed the cold clods of the valley. There,
There must all sleep, seed in the bosom of earth,
To shoot as weeds or flowers, when the fair spring
Of immortality shall dawn; and then
Be gather'd with the general harvest in,
And garner'd in the stores of heaven,—or swept
With the vile chaff away. Eternal God!
Thou who art wrapt in robes of majesty
And dazzling light—the Lord, the Judge of all!
To Thee we would commend us—Hear our prayers,
Do all Thy will on earth as done in heaven,
And be Thy law, our law,—Thy will, our will!
Thou will'st Thy children's happiness;—Thy hand,
Thy guardian hand, has given us that pure joy
Which angels share—that silent source of bliss,
That sweet anticipation of Thyself,
Flowing from a pure heart;—Thy will be done!
And wakening yon innumerable stars,
A twilight, milder than the eye of day
And fairer than the calm of night, is spread
O'er universal nature; from above
Shadows descend, solicitous to veil
The sins of the reposing world;—to soothe
Hearts beating with anxiety,—to lull
The tumults of ambition,—quell the thirst
Of greedy avarice,—and to cheat the care
Of wantonness, that crowns its head with thorns.
The perjured tongue, the rapine-scheming head,
The murderous hand, the vile and counterfeit heart,
The eye that sheds false tears—thou, darksome night!
Veil in thy charity—be the o'er-arching tomb,
Tho' for a moment, to the mass of sins
Which morn, alas! shall wake again,—and day
Let loose like bandits on the unshelter'd world.
And O! if in the visions of the night
A ministering angel might descend,—a voice
Be heard in the still silence, to recal
Those wanderers to the fold of blessedness!
Yet midnight shade, tho' dark and deep it be,
Will hide them not from Him, to whom the gloom
Is bright as noon-tide. Let the solemn thought
Come o'er my soul, that even as now in sleep,
So shall we lay us down in death, ere long,
And for a gloomier season. Kings and slaves
Shall then repose upon the self-same bed,
That bed the cold clods of the valley. There,
There must all sleep, seed in the bosom of earth,
To shoot as weeds or flowers, when the fair spring
Of immortality shall dawn; and then
Be gather'd with the general harvest in,
And garner'd in the stores of heaven,—or swept
With the vile chaff away. Eternal God!
Thou who art wrapt in robes of majesty
And dazzling light—the Lord, the Judge of all!
To Thee we would commend us—Hear our prayers,
Do all Thy will on earth as done in heaven,
And be Thy law, our law,—Thy will, our will!
Thou will'st Thy children's happiness;—Thy hand,
Thy guardian hand, has given us that pure joy
Which angels share—that silent source of bliss,
That sweet anticipation of Thyself,
Flowing from a pure heart;—Thy will be done!
