University of Virginia Library

A NIGHT MEDITATION.

Night! the old, solemn, consecrated Night
Is round me now, in all her conquering might
And sweepy pride of sway; all the glad dyes
Of day, have melted from the mantled skies—
And the flower-scented, soft, caressing breeze
Hath fallen asleep amidst the cradling trees—
And all this work-day world's hack sounds are o'er,
And all its waves lie smoothed upon the shore:
What touching holiness is in this hour!
In its adoring stillness, what deep power—
And in its thrilling silence! It is now,
That most we meditation's reign avow—
And own a bosomed Paradise within;
Unwatched by dread-armed powers—and yet by sin
Undesecrated; for we surely wear
A robe of purity while lingering there:
My soul confesses this imposing thrall,
While like a sea of frozen billows all—
Seems life, frail life to lie, with its brief ties,
Its passions, sorrows, powers, and energies;
My soul consents unto this charmed sway,
That wins the trouble from its dreams away,
And in adoring quietude remains
A captive, fettered by most glorious chains—
Chains, that so tenderly are round it twined,
That it were grief to unlink them, and unwind.
Oh, Night! oh, sphery season of the soul—
When deeper consciousness pervades its whole
Of deep existence—when more liberal scope
Seems granted to the glad flight of its hope;
When it casts down awhile its slough of cares,
To breathe more vigorous, more inspiring airs:
Night! thou bring'st star-tiared thoughts, bring'st white-robed dreams
Unto our spirits!—with their angel gleams
They clear off the earthly mists thick gathered there,
And make them wise, and pure, and calm, and fair:
Yea! and e'en now through my lulled mind doth pass—
Like shapes that overthwart some wizard's glass—
A mute procession of mysterious things,
Moving serene upon their viewless wings;
High phantasies, bright visions, kindling hopes,
Silent as clouds that down the western slopes
Glide calm;—o'er the aëry platforms of my thought
Pass dreamily, as some dim goal they sought,—
To life-like hues of tenderest beauty wrought;
How wonderful! how beautiful is all!—
My soul, well may'st thou bless so bright a thrall.
Oh skies! inscribed with argent charactery;
Oh! holiest meanings in their depths that lie;
Oh! wordless eloquence of all around;
Oh! most consummate harmony without sound;
Oh victory! without wrath, or wrong, or strife—
Deep universe of feeling, and of life;
Oh! mystery of all mysteries—widely spread
About us, while these full, strong hours are sped!
Mystery?—not so! we know what we survey,
E'en in this dungeon-tenement of clay,
We know how to translate this wondrous whole,
And lay its thrice-blessed meanings to our soul.
Yea! all we trembling, yet rejoicing, view,
From yon dread midnight-heaven's deep shadowy blue;
(With stars of trembling light pierced through and through)
To the dim earth, with its wide stretching plains,
Where now such exquisite stillness brooding reigns—
All lights, all shades, all substances, all forms,
All hues, all aspects from the heaven that storms
The sense with splendour of sublimities;
To that sweet gloom, that softly on it lies—
E'en as a weight of rest: yea! earth and sky,
Light, darkness, form,—the wide, the deep, the high—
The near, the distant, the minute, the vast;
The gale's low whisper or the storm's loud blast—
All, all around, beneath, beyond, above,
Can we translate into that one word, Love!