 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
104
A SUMMER EVENING IN BRATHAY CHURCHYARD.
The rain that fell all morning ceased at eve,
Now not a cloudlet dims the sun's last ray,
His brilliant beams a crown of glory weave
Around the forehead of the dying day;
And silver arrows from the moon's bright quiver
Fall in faint shafts of light upon the river.
Now not a cloudlet dims the sun's last ray,
His brilliant beams a crown of glory weave
Around the forehead of the dying day;
And silver arrows from the moon's bright quiver
Fall in faint shafts of light upon the river.
The lordly hills soar grandly all around,
Their crests just lighted by the evening star;
And Brathay's music is the only sound
That breaks the stillness brooding near and far;
On earth, and air, and sky there lies a hush,
Not e'en a night-bird warbles in the bush.
Their crests just lighted by the evening star;
And Brathay's music is the only sound
That breaks the stillness brooding near and far;
On earth, and air, and sky there lies a hush,
Not e'en a night-bird warbles in the bush.
The church-tower rises darkly to the sky,
Like some strong guardian of the dead beneath,
Who in their quiet resting-places lie,
In this fair region of the spoiler Death,
For this clear spot beside the Brathay's wave
Wears not the gloom, or sadness of the grave.
Like some strong guardian of the dead beneath,
Who in their quiet resting-places lie,
In this fair region of the spoiler Death,
For this clear spot beside the Brathay's wave
Wears not the gloom, or sadness of the grave.
105
The tender scene, breathing of perfect rest,
Of dreamless slumber, and unbroken ease,
Creates a holy calm within the breast,
And from its cares the weary spirit frees;
The heart is soothed as glides the stream along,
And Brathay floods the valley with its song.
Of dreamless slumber, and unbroken ease,
Creates a holy calm within the breast,
And from its cares the weary spirit frees;
The heart is soothed as glides the stream along,
And Brathay floods the valley with its song.
Pathos and stillness crown the place and hour,
As in the west the light begins to pale,
And dewy night draws over tree and flower
Her dark, but bright and star-inwoven veil;
While o'er this hallowed ground is shed abroad
The peace and deep tranquillity of God.
As in the west the light begins to pale,
And dewy night draws over tree and flower
Her dark, but bright and star-inwoven veil;
While o'er this hallowed ground is shed abroad
The peace and deep tranquillity of God.
The world intrudes not here; and we forget
Its stormy passions and its bitter strife,
Ignoble aims, the fever and the fret,
The trifles and the meannesses of life;
For in this scene where God is all in all,
The world appears immeasurably small.
Its stormy passions and its bitter strife,
Ignoble aims, the fever and the fret,
The trifles and the meannesses of life;
For in this scene where God is all in all,
The world appears immeasurably small.
Those who sleep here have cast off all life's cares,
Its poignant sorrows, passions and alarms,
Its shattered hopes, heart-sickness and despairs,
And the great mother folds them in her arms,
'Tis but the living who still watch and weep,
And through the dreary night sad vigils keep.
Its poignant sorrows, passions and alarms,
Its shattered hopes, heart-sickness and despairs,
And the great mother folds them in her arms,
'Tis but the living who still watch and weep,
And through the dreary night sad vigils keep.
106
Ah! when the fever of this life is past,
And the long labour of the day is done,
How sweet to rest in this fair spot at last,
Our grave illumined by the setting sun,
And guarded by the hills that stand around,
The Brathay flowing by with silver sound.
And the long labour of the day is done,
How sweet to rest in this fair spot at last,
Our grave illumined by the setting sun,
And guarded by the hills that stand around,
The Brathay flowing by with silver sound.
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |