THE night is come, but not too soon; And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heaven, Is it the tender star of love? The star of love and dreams? And earnest thoughts within me rise, Suspended in the evening skies, O star of strength! I see thee stand And smile upon my pain; Thou beckonest with thy mailèd hand, And I am strong again. Within my breast there is no light, I give the first watch of the night The star of the unconquered will, And calm, and self-possessed. And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, O fear not in a world like this, FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, Ere the evening lamps are lighted, Then the forms of the departed Come to visit me once more; He, the young and strong, who cherished By the road-side fell and perished, They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly, Spake with us on earth no more! And with them the Being Beauteous, Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. With a slow and noiseless footstep And she sits and gazes at me Uttered not, yet comprehended, O, though oft depressed and lonely, If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died! |