Book 1 — NIGHT.

I saw the sun sink slowly in the west, Painting the cloudless skies with liquid gold; I saw the angel of the night unfold His dewy wings, and lowly o’er his breast Bow down his head in meek humility, As one who works his Master’s wise behest. I saw the moon in radiant garb uprise And sail majestic o’er the tranquil skies, Like some bright vessel on a waveless sea. And as I gazed, a sense of perfect rest Stole o’er me, and the sorrows that infest The life of all no longer burdened me, But, with the light, fled peacefully away. Ceased had the plaintive carol of the thrush, And stillness brooded over everything, As if the dark-robed angel had unfurled His ebon pinions and, from off his wing, Shook silence down upon a sleeping world; Or the last sigh of the departing day, Borne through the trees in one long-whispered “Hush!” Had breathed o’er all a spirit of repose. So may life’s sun, which at the dawn uprose Resplendent in its ever-growing light, In peaceful glory sink at evening’s close Beyond the margin of death’s silent sea, And the grey shadows of that wondrous night, Which ends in day eternal, fall on me.