NIGHT.
195
And to that soul that ever seeks to viewIn all things good the beautiful and true,Its silent voice is full of love and peace,With promises of bliss that ne'er shall cease.But to that soul absorbed in worldly cares,That weave a network round of Satan's snares,Its holy, earnest glance would seem to say,"Oh, waste not thus the hours of life's brief day.Now bid thy spirit from these earth-mists soar;Lift up thine eyes, behold us, and adore.Adore the God who formed us by His might,Whose hand alone can quench our beams of light;And realize within thy soul how vainIs all the glory worldly pomp can gain."Ambitious man may rear through all the landProud monuments of pow'r he hopes will standThrough long, long ages; but they pass away.There's naught man's work that can resist decay.E'en Egypt's pyramids at last must fall,When desolation's wing sweeps over all.Exalted thought and holy deeds aloneRear structures that can ne'er be overthrown.
Night, thou art beautiful, when winter reignsAnd flings its mantling snow o'er hills and plains;When 'neath the starlight, or the moon's clear beam,Its icicles and crystals softly gleam;
