 | Duganne's Poetical Works |  |
MIDNIGHT IN THE CHURCH-YARD.
TWELVE o'clock! the night-cock croweth,
Croweth long and loud;
And I do feel my spirit sink,
And my heart within me bowed.
Croweth long and loud;
And I do feel my spirit sink,
And my heart within me bowed.
Through the night have I been listening,
Wearily through the night—
To the sounds within the old church-yard,
That sleepeth in my sight.
Wearily through the night—
To the sounds within the old church-yard,
That sleepeth in my sight.
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Shining down upon the tombstones,
Falleth the white moon-beam,
And silvereth all the darksome graves
With a bright and quiet gleam;—
Falleth the white moon-beam,
And silvereth all the darksome graves
With a bright and quiet gleam;—
And I do think, as mine eyes behold it,
That love, like the moon-beam bright,
Can clothe the dark and frightful grave
With a mantle of silver light.
That love, like the moon-beam bright,
Can clothe the dark and frightful grave
With a mantle of silver light.
Round and about, among the tombstones,
Glide the dark shades afar—
Like evil thoughts, that fly away
When shineth the pure love-star!
Glide the dark shades afar—
Like evil thoughts, that fly away
When shineth the pure love-star!
The lonely willow-trees are bending,
Sorrowful over the graves—
And the stars, above in heaven, shine
Through each one as it waves.
Sorrowful over the graves—
And the stars, above in heaven, shine
Through each one as it waves.
And thus, when sorrow's willow bendeth,
Over us sad and dark,
If we but look through the leaves above,
The beautiful stars we mark!
Over us sad and dark,
If we but look through the leaves above,
The beautiful stars we mark!
It is well for me to gaze, at midnight,
Into the church-yard old,
Where the mounds of the long-departed
Sleep in the moonbeam cold:—
Into the church-yard old,
Where the mounds of the long-departed
Sleep in the moonbeam cold:—
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For there cometh to my soul a lesson,
And when I have learned it well,
The weariness goes from off my heart,
Like the gloom where the moonbeam fell.
And when I have learned it well,
The weariness goes from off my heart,
Like the gloom where the moonbeam fell.
| Duganne's Poetical Works | |