Poems (Emma M. Ballard Bell)/Night
For works with similar titles, see Night.
NIGHT.
O ancient Night! ere suns and stars had birth,Or God from chaos wrought this wondrous earth,Triumphant thou didst reign, while all aroundThy sister Silence breathed a spell profound.And then at last this orb assumed a placeWith other planets in the realms of space;And cosmic light at length flashed dimly o'erA world to naught but darkness known before;Prophetic of a future day of light,To beam with radiance more pure and bright.At last through clouds of mist the sun-rays broke,And earth into the sunlight splendor woke.And thou wast Night, though Darkness was thy nameEre at God's word Day into being came;And when "God saw the light that it was good,"And gazed afar where Night majestic stood,"Let us," He said, "each one of these divide,And give to both an empire vast and wide."When this was done, well pleasing in His sight,The light He called the Day, the darkness, Night.He placed a starry crown on Night's dark brow,And as she wore it then she wears it now, Save here and there a bright celestial gemIs lost from out the gorgeous diadem;While beaming forth with majesty and graceAnother fills the glitt'ring lost one's place.O Night! what mighty changes thou hast seen!What mighty changes in our world had beenEre yet man came from God's creating hand,The one for whom creation's scheme was planned!And now for long years o'er this peopled earthHast thou looked down on scenes of woe and mirth;On scenes of joy and peace, and those of strife,On scenes of death, and scenes of happy life;And watched while grief, unsleeping, wept awayThe long night-hours until the break of day;And seen despair lift up its tearless eyeIn silent agony, and pray to die.How long, O Night! until such woe be past?When hearts no more shall bow 'neath sorrow's blast,When wrong and error shall be swept away,And truth and right hold universal sway. The most some talent have, though genius, few;And noble zeal and talent might renewOur earth, until twould like a heaven seem,Where life would pass like some entrancing dream.Though talent gazes with bewildered eye,When genius in its course sweeps earth and sky And darts like lightning through the depths of space,Impatient, eager some new path to traceWhere seraphim or angels may have trod,When drawing nearer to the throne of God,Joy's sunlight is not always genius' dow'r;Too oft it feels the storm and whirlwind's pow'r,Yet storm and whirlwind may alike defy,With upward glance still fixed on Deity.Immortal minstrel! Milton, sang of lightWhen its sweet beams no more might cheer his sight;Though day its glories has, O Night! we claimThou hast thy glories too, though not the same.And when o'er earth thy gentle shadows fall;When quietness and peace reign over all;When stars gaze on us from their home aboveWith glances full of sympathy and love;The waves of life's great sea more calmly roll,And tides of glorious thoughts sweep o'er the soul.Then, too, in those calm hours of deep repose,Long after day has wandered to its close,When sleep waves o'er us its soft magic wand,How sweet to wander in that mystic land,—The dream-land, often with rare beauties fraughtLike that bewitching fairy-land of thought! O Night! we love thee most that thou dost show,To mortals dwelling in this sphere below, Those glorious orbs that on thy dark brow gleam,That in the heav'ns with light celestial beam;And when above we lift our wond'ring eyesAnd view the glories of the midnight skies,How longs the spirit then for wings to soarThrough starry lands by angels trod before,That it may view with clear-discerning eyesE'en some of God's unfathomed mysteries!And can these aspirations of the soul be wrong,These yearnings of the spirit, deep and strong?No! Though God's thoughts are not as thoughts of man,His secret ways no mortal e'er can scan,Yet as we journey to perfection's goalWe'll cherish still these longings of the soul,Still keep our eyes fixed on the heights above,And still with earnest strivings onward move.We know not but when this brief life is pastOur 'wishes may be realized at last;But should this be, the soul, though richly blest,Would not deem this enough, nor idly rest,But higher longings still would then be born,With ever-wid'ning range as beams of morn.Each star, O Night, that glitters in thy crown,That gazes on this earth majestic down,Seems like a pleader to this earth-sphere giv'nTo woo man's thoughts from earthly things to heav'n. And to that soul that ever seeks to viewIn all things good the beautiful and true,Its silent voice is full of love and peace,With promises of bliss that ne'er shall cease.But to that soul absorbed in worldly cares,That weave a network round of Satan's snares,Its holy, earnest glance would seem to say,"Oh, waste not thus the hours of life's brief day.Now bid thy spirit from these earth-mists soar;Lift up thine eyes, behold us, and adore.Adore the God who formed us by His might,Whose hand alone can quench our beams of light;And realize within thy soul how vainIs all the glory worldly pomp can gain."Ambitious man may rear through all the landProud monuments of pow'r he hopes will standThrough long, long ages; but they pass away.There's naught man's work that can resist decay.E'en Egypt's pyramids at last must fall,When desolation's wing sweeps over all.Exalted thought and holy deeds aloneRear structures that can ne'er be overthrown.
Night, thou art beautiful, when winter reignsAnd flings its mantling snow o'er hills and plains;When 'neath the starlight, or the moon's clear beam,Its icicles and crystals softly gleam; And lovely thou, when gentle springtime comesAnd calls the blossoms to their woodland homes.How glorious art thou, when the summer's skyHath caught the deep glance of her laughing eye!How peaceful thou, when quiet autumn comes,The time when birds return to southern homes;When breezes hum a low and sad refrain,As if it were a parting full of pain,When proud trees drop their bright-hued garlands downUpon the barren earth so cold and brown!The blossoms perish 'neath the touch of frost;The glories of the summer all are lost.Majestic is thy reign where northern skiesAre lit with luster of auroral dyes;And fancy whispers that like fairy-land—Save that there come no breezes mild and bland—Must be those arctic realms, when over allTheir icebergs and their glaciers moonbeams fall.And then our own broad prairies love thee too,On flow'rs and grasses dropping gentle dew.Thy reign is bright in far-off southern clime,In lovely lands of music and of rhyme.And if so fair lit by the sunbeam dyes,How glorious, too, must be the midnight skiesOf Italy, that land of deathless fame,Where long ago Art's high-souled children came, The canvas touched, or on the marble wrought,And left the impress there of lofty thought. Night, there are times when o'er thy brow sereneThick clouds of blackness and of rage are seen;Times when the storm-winds rush in madness by,And lightnings flash across the darkened sky.Yet, Night, thy clouds and tempests are sublime,Foreshadowing that great, that fearful time,So fearful unto each whose wayward heartRefused in life to choose the better part;When angels traversing the voids of spaceShall from the clouds that veil Jehovah's facePeal after peal from their loud trumpets blow,And shake the heav'ns above and earth below.
O glorious Night! with all thine orbs of light,There is a sinless land where comes no night;And when in those fair realms of ParadiseWe meet the pure sweet gaze of angel eyesAnd feel the gentle clasp of spirit hands,We'll roam enraptured through those angel lands,Where friends shall meet and know the perfect loveThat thrills the souls of those who meet above;And then our souls shall view more glorious thingsThan Night to mortal vision ever brings;Then thought shall soar from earthly fetters free,And time be lost in vast eternity.