Poems (Brown)/The Midnight Hour

by Carrie L. Brown

THE MIDNIGHT HOUR. 

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In the lonely hour of midnight,
 When the stars have sunk to rest,
And the lovely flowers are sleeping
 Silent on their mother's breast,
When the lonely hour of midnight
 Peals upon my startled ear,
Then the songs of the departed—
 Heavenly songs—I often hear

Enter at my window casement,
 And the room is filled with light;
Flitting forms and dusky phantoms
 Visit me in lone midnight;
Soft brown hair, and waving garments,
 Kisses warm are on my cheek;
And I sit, and softly listen,
 Till I almost hear them speak.

One there comes with heavenly lustre
 Shining in her mild, dark eye,
Twines her hands about my forehead,
 And I seem to hear her sigh;
Then, with finger pointing upward,
 Beckons me, and whispers low,
Till I bow my head in anguish,
 And pray for strength to bear the blow.

Then there softly steals another,
 Clad in spotless virgin white,
Whispers low the name of "Father,"
 In the lonely hour of night;
Loving arms are raised in triumph,
 Dark eyes beam with silent love,
Till again I seem to fold her
 In my arms—my precious dove.

Now two boyish forms do enter;
 One hangs 'bout me, on my chair,
While the other softly glances
 Toward the angels, waiting there.
In each hand they bear a shining
 Golden harp and sweet-toned lyre,
Strung with gems and sparkling crystals—
 Angel harps for all the choir.

Then, with kisses pure and mild,
 Do these forms, so full of light,
Vanish 'neath my window casement,
 In the solemn hour of night;
And, starting from my chair, I wake,
 And listen for that heavenly tone;
But, alas! they all have left me
 In the midnight hour alone.

ONE FRIEND. 

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O could we but in sorrow find
One friend of sympathizing mind,
We'd love the others just the same,
And listen for their well-known name.
But in the hours of sorest grief,
In this dear friend we'd find relief,
And go to her in deepest woe,
And whisper then in words so low,
The tender sorrow of the mind,
Confide it to this friend so kind,
And, soft as bells for vespers' peal,
She'd cheer our hearts, our troubles heal.
We'd cling to her dear loving breast,
And think of all, we loved her best,
Because in sorrow we should find
A sweet and sympathizing mind.