HYMN TO THE NIGHT 81 Hymn to the Night I heard the trailing garments of the Night I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light I felt her presence, by its spell of might, The calm, majestic presence of the Night, 5 I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, 10 That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, Like some old poet's rhymes. From the cool cisterns of the midnight air My spirit drank repose; The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, 15 O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AMERICA, 1819-1891 Longing Of all the myriad moods of mind That through the soul come thronging, The thing we long for, that we are For one transcendent moment, Still, through our paltry stir and strife, And Longing molds in clay what Life To let the new life in, we know, Desire must ope the portal; Perhaps the longing to be so Helps make the soul immortal. THE FINDING OF THE LYRE Longing is God's fresh heavenward will But, would we learn that heart's full scope Our lives must climb from hope to hope Ah! let us hope that to our praise The moments when we tread His ways, That some slight good is also wrought Beyond self-satisfaction, When we are simply good in thought, The Finding of the Lyre There lay upon the ocean's shore A year and more, with rush and roar, Had played with it, and flung it by, 5 10 15 20 It rested there to bleach or tan, The rains had soaked, the suns had burned it; Had stumbled o'er and spurned it; And there the fisher-girl would stay, How in their play the poor estray So there it lay, through wet and dry, Till by and by came Mercury, And, having mused upon it, "Why, here," cried he, "the thing of things In shape, material, and dimensions! Give it but strings, and lo, it sings, A wonderful invention !" So said, so done; the chords he strained, O empty world that round us lies, WAITING 85 JOHN BURROUGHS AMERICA, 1837 Waiting1 Serene, I fold my hands and wait, I stay my haste, I make delays, And what is mine shall know my face. Asleep, awake, by night or day, The friends I seek are seeking me; What matter if I stand alone? I wait with joy the coming years; Used by courteous permission of the publishers, Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., Boston. 5 10 15 |