HENRY ROWE

ANGEL, king of streaming morn; Cherub, call’d by Heav’n to shine; T’ orient tread the waste forlorn; Guide ætherial, pow’r divine; Thou, Lord of all within! Golden spirit, lamp of day, Host, that dips in blood the plain, Bids the crimson’d mead be gay, Bids the green blood burst the vein; Thou, Lord of all within! Soul, that wraps the globe in light; Spirit, beckoning to arise; Drives the frowning brow of night, Glory bursting o’er the skies; Thou, Lord of all within!

THEE too, modest tressèd maid, When thy fallen stars appear; When in lawn of fire array’d Sov’reign of yon powder’d sphere; To thee I chant at close of day, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray. Throned in sapphired ring supreme, Pregnant with celestial juice, On silver wing thy diamond stream Gives what summer hours produce; While view’d impearl’d earth’s rich inlay, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray. Glad, pale Cynthian wine I sip, Breathed the flow’ry leaves among; Draughts delicious wet my lip; Drown’d in nectar drunk my song; While tuned to Philomel the lay, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray. Dew, that od’rous ointment yields, Sweets, that western winds disclose, Bathing spring’s more purpled fields, Soft’s the band that winds the rose; While o’er thy myrtled lawns I stray Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.