EASTER MORNING.
The fasts are done; the Aves said;
The moon has filled her horn;
And in the solemn night I watch
Before the Easter morn.
So pure, so still the starry heaven,
So hushed the brooding air,
I could hear the sweep of an angel's wings
If one should earthward fare;—
Great Michael with his flaming sword,
Sandalphon bearing to the Lord
Some heart-cry of despair.
The moon has filled her horn;
And in the solemn night I watch
Before the Easter morn.
So pure, so still the starry heaven,
So hushed the brooding air,
I could hear the sweep of an angel's wings
If one should earthward fare;—
Great Michael with his flaming sword,
Sandalphon bearing to the Lord
Some heart-cry of despair.
But since the sunset glow went out
And the fitful wind grew still,
No sound has stirred the waiting night,
No flash lit sky or hill.
Gabriel nor Uriel speeds to tell
Some heavenly boon is won;
To other spheres in the airy deep
Their shining pathways run,
And, left of angel ministries,
Alone upon celestial seas
Earth circles round the sun.
And the fitful wind grew still,
No sound has stirred the waiting night,
No flash lit sky or hill.
Gabriel nor Uriel speeds to tell
Some heavenly boon is won;
To other spheres in the airy deep
Their shining pathways run,
And, left of angel ministries,
Alone upon celestial seas
Earth circles round the sun.
