Poems (Blake)/On the Heights
ON THE HEIGHT
At evening, when the western sky Burns crimson with the setting sun,When night's sweet calm is drawing n And day is done,—
While lingering shadows stoop to rest Where the dim valley slopes away,And fold above its silent breast Their mantle gray,—
When down from pastures fair and sweet, Obedient to the herdsman's cry,The lowing herds with patient feet Go slowly by,—
Still is the mountain top aflame With sunset banners all unfurled,As one who lifts her heart's pure fame Above the world.
While far below in wavering mood The flickering shadows grope and fall, It lifts its radiant solitude High over all.
———
As sometimes when with indrawn breath We see some well-belovèd facePass up the shadowy vale of death To God's dear grace,—
Through all the mists of soul and sense, The eye of faith, with outlook fond,Can see far off the light intense On heights beyond,—
Serene amid the gathering gloom, And lit with radiance from above,Where heaven's eternal glories bloom, And God's pure love.