Poems (Blake)/On the Heights
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 face
Pass 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.