Poems (Craik)/The Wind at Night

by Dinah Maria Craik

THE WIND AT NIGHT.

SUDDEN blast, that through this silence black
   Sweeps past my windows,
Coming and going with invisible track
   As death or sin does,—

Why scare me, lying sick, and, save thine own,
   Hearing no voices?
Why mingle with a helpless human moan
   Thy mad rejoices?

Why not come gently, as good angels come
   To souls departing,
Floating among the shadows of the room
   With eyes light-darting,

Bringing faint airs of balm that seem to rouse
   Thoughts of a Far Land,
Then binding softly upon weary brows
   Death's poppy-garland?

O fearful blast, I shudder at thy sound,
   Like heathen mortal
Who saw the Three that mark life's doomed bound
   Sit at his portal.

Thou mightst be laden with sad, shrieking souls,
   Carried unwilling
From their known earth to the unknown stream that rolls
   All anguish stilling.

Fierce wind, will the Death-angel come like thee,
   Soon, soon to bear me
—Whither? what mysteries may unfold to me,
   What terrors scare me?

Shall I go wand'ring on through empty space
   As on earth, lonely?
Or seek through myriad spirit-ranks one face,
   And miss that only?

Shall I not then drop down from sphere to sphere
   Palsied and aimless?
Or will my being change so, that both fear
   And grief die nameless?

Rather I pray Him who Himself is Love,
   Out of whose essence
We all do spring, and towards Him tending, move
   Back to His presence,

That even His brightness may not quite efface
   The soul's earth-features,
That the dear human likeness each may trace
   Glorified creatures;

That we may not cease loving, only taught
   Holier desiring;
More faith, more patience; with more wisdom fraught,
   Higher aspiring.

That we may do all work we left undone
   Here—though unmeetness;
From height to height celestial passing on
   Towards full completeness.

Then, strong Azrael, be thy supreme call
   Soft as spring-breezes,
Or like this blast, whose loud fiend-festival
   My heart's blood freezes,

I will not fear thee. If thou safely keep
   My soul, God's giving,
And my soul's soul, I, wakening from death-sleep,
   Shall first know living.