 | Voices from the Lakes, and Other Poems |  |
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NIGHT AND MORNING.
“Watchman, what of the night? The watchman said, The morning
cometh, and also the night.”—Isa. xxi. 11, 12.
“Watchman, what of the night?” he cries,
Who, stretched on a bed of pain,
Worn, and weary, and restless lies,
With fevered heart and brain.
When will the dreary hours go past?
Oh, when will the night be gone?
Would God that the morning might come at last!
Would God the day might dawn!
The Watchman says—“No signs as yet of day are in the sky,
But morning comes; a little while, and the darkness passeth by.
Who, stretched on a bed of pain,
Worn, and weary, and restless lies,
With fevered heart and brain.
When will the dreary hours go past?
Oh, when will the night be gone?
Would God that the morning might come at last!
Would God the day might dawn!
The Watchman says—“No signs as yet of day are in the sky,
But morning comes; a little while, and the darkness passeth by.
“Watchman, what of the night?” he sighs,
Who, sick with a hope deferred,
Looks eagerly up through weeping eyes,
To catch the Watchman's word.
When will it come, the joyous day,
And bring with it peace and rest?
When will the darkness speed away,
And light return to the breast?
The Watchman says—“Night lingers still, but soon the morn shall dawn.
Be patient yet, and hope in God, for the daybreak hasteneth on.”
Who, sick with a hope deferred,
Looks eagerly up through weeping eyes,
To catch the Watchman's word.
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And bring with it peace and rest?
When will the darkness speed away,
And light return to the breast?
The Watchman says—“Night lingers still, but soon the morn shall dawn.
Be patient yet, and hope in God, for the daybreak hasteneth on.”
“Watchman, what of the night?” he moans,
Who, pierced with a rankling dart,
Wails for his sin with weeping and groans,
And the cry of one sick at heart.
Is there no medicine to heal the soul?
No balm that will give it peace?
No charm that can charm away its dole?
And bide the sharp anguish cease?
The Watchman says—“Weep on, weep on; such sorrows healing bring.
God loves to see such holy tears; thou yet shalt laugh and sing.”
Who, pierced with a rankling dart,
Wails for his sin with weeping and groans,
And the cry of one sick at heart.
Is there no medicine to heal the soul?
No balm that will give it peace?
No charm that can charm away its dole?
And bide the sharp anguish cease?
The Watchman says—“Weep on, weep on; such sorrows healing bring.
God loves to see such holy tears; thou yet shalt laugh and sing.”
“Watchman, what of the night?” he cries,
Who, in the long ages of woe,
Sees the shadows ever gather and rise,
And knows they never shall go.
“What of the night?” is his cry of pain,
As he looks through the coming years,
Looking for comfort, but all in vain!
For nothing shall staunch his tears.
The Watchman says—“No ray of light shall ever reach thy soul,
But ever and ever shall deepen the night, and its shadows round thee roll.”
Who, in the long ages of woe,
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And knows they never shall go.
“What of the night?” is his cry of pain,
As he looks through the coming years,
Looking for comfort, but all in vain!
For nothing shall staunch his tears.
The Watchman says—“No ray of light shall ever reach thy soul,
But ever and ever shall deepen the night, and its shadows round thee roll.”
“Watchman, what of the night?” he says,
Who longs for his Lord's return,
Waiting until the Day of Days
On the mountain tops shall burn.
Oh, say when on my yearning sight
The Day Star shall arise,
And banish away the gloom of night
With splendours of Paradise?
The Watchman says—“The morning comes, the hills are all aglow;
Prepare, prepare thy Bridal Song, for soon the darkness will go.”
Who longs for his Lord's return,
Waiting until the Day of Days
On the mountain tops shall burn.
Oh, say when on my yearning sight
The Day Star shall arise,
And banish away the gloom of night
With splendours of Paradise?
The Watchman says—“The morning comes, the hills are all aglow;
Prepare, prepare thy Bridal Song, for soon the darkness will go.”
| Voices from the Lakes, and Other Poems | |