Poems (Sharpless)/Midnight

by Frances M. Sharpless

For works with similar titles, see Midnight.

MIDNIGHT

There's not a star in all the sky,
 Only a mass of stormy cloud;
And through the naked shuddering trees
 The wind wails loud.

Aroused from sleep by vague unrest,
 In vain I seek a sound, a sight
Of hope, or sympathy to cheer
 The lonely night.

No footstep in the silent street,
 All still except the sob and moan
Of the wild wind, as it and I
 Watch here alone.

A heavy sorrow weighs my heart,
 With anguish far too deep for tears;
Thinking of sad Humanity
 Thro' the long years.

Death is so solemn, Life so sad,
 And Poverty and Sin so strong;
And as in shadows, all the world
 Seems steeped in wrong.

Was it an angel's whisper clear
 That thrilled along that blast's fierce close,
That stilled my heart, and softly said,
 "The Father knows "?

No storm shall rage but as He will;
 No tiniest bird unnoted fall;
No heart breathe an unheeded sigh;—
 He sees them all.

Oh! blessed Lord of Life and Death!
 This suffering and perplexing world
Is shielded by supremest Love
 Around it furled.

And He who watched o'er Israel
 Shall slumber not, nor cease to keep
One single soul. So calmed and hushed
 Again I sleep.