 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
The Rising Moon.—W. O. B. Peabody.
The moon is up! How calm and slow
She wheels above the hill!
The weary winds forget to blow,
And all the world lies still.
She wheels above the hill!
The weary winds forget to blow,
And all the world lies still.
The way-worn travellers, with delight,
The rising brightness see,
Revealing all the paths and plains,
And gilding every tree.
The rising brightness see,
Revealing all the paths and plains,
And gilding every tree.
It glistens where the hurrying stream
Its little ripple leaves;
It falls upon the forest shade,
And sparkles on the leaves.
Its little ripple leaves;
It falls upon the forest shade,
And sparkles on the leaves.
So once, on Judah's evening hills,
The heavenly lustre spread;
The gospel sounded from the blaze,
And shepherds gazed with dread.
The heavenly lustre spread;
The gospel sounded from the blaze,
And shepherds gazed with dread.
And still that light upon the world
Its guiding splendor throws:
Bright in the opening hours of life,
But brighter at the close.
Its guiding splendor throws:
Bright in the opening hours of life,
But brighter at the close.
The waning moon, in time, shall fail
To walk the midnight skies;
But God hath kindled this bright light
With fire that never dies.
To walk the midnight skies;
But God hath kindled this bright light
With fire that never dies.
| The American common-place book of poetry | |