 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
101
MIDNIGHT.
The moon is riding high in the blue heavens,And like a delicate drapery the clouds
Hang o'er the vast expanse; the air is calm;
No voice, no sound is heard, save the soft note,
Far distant, of a solitary lute;
All things are hushed in that tranquillity
Which speaks e'en to the worn and troubled heart
And bids its passions rest. How beautiful
Is this fair world! There's not a leaf that falls
Within the forest, not a flower that springs
Beneath our footsteps, not a twinkling star
That gems the brow of night, but gives the heart
A lesson it should ne'er forget, of peace
And innocence. Surely this world was made
For pure, angelic habitants; the breath
Of heaven, that passes o'er the spangled earth
And fills with fragrance every flower, was meant
To fan the golden hair of such as those
Who throng around the eternal throne with harps
Of thrilling melody. Earth is too fair
To be the scene of turbulence—the abode
Of pain and misery. O! why will man
Transform thy gentle paradise of sweets
To a dark waste of sorrow and of sin!
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |