NIGHT.
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The canvas touched, or on the marble wrought,And left the impress there of lofty thought. Night, there are times when o'er thy brow sereneThick clouds of blackness and of rage are seen;Times when the storm-winds rush in madness by,And lightnings flash across the darkened sky.Yet, Night, thy clouds and tempests are sublime,Foreshadowing that great, that fearful time,So fearful unto each whose wayward heartRefused in life to choose the better part;When angels traversing the voids of spaceShall from the clouds that veil Jehovah's facePeal after peal from their loud trumpets blow,And shake the heav'ns above and earth below.
O glorious Night! with all thine orbs of light,There is a sinless land where comes no night;And when in those fair realms of ParadiseWe meet the pure sweet gaze of angel eyesAnd feel the gentle clasp of spirit hands,We'll roam enraptured through those angel lands,Where friends shall meet and know the perfect loveThat thrills the souls of those who meet above;And then our souls shall view more glorious thingsThan Night to mortal vision ever brings;Then thought shall soar from earthly fetters free,And time be lost in vast eternity.
