 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
100
A RECOLLECTION.
The night was so calm, so silent,
I could hear the beat of my heart,
Like the faint throb of an engine
Nearing some distant mart,
Or laboring up the mountain,
Whence the river fountains start
To exchange the bread of the country
For the city's wealth in art.
I could hear the beat of my heart,
Like the faint throb of an engine
Nearing some distant mart,
Or laboring up the mountain,
Whence the river fountains start
To exchange the bread of the country
For the city's wealth in art.
No voice in the starry heaven;
In the trees no whispering sound;
No hum of droning insect
Came up from the brooding ground;
And a sense of fear stole o'er me
In that silence so profound,
For it seemed as if life had perished
From everything around.
In the trees no whispering sound;
No hum of droning insect
Came up from the brooding ground;
And a sense of fear stole o'er me
In that silence so profound,
For it seemed as if life had perished
From everything around.
And I mused on those distant cycles
When the great Earth swung in night,
Ere an ear had been created,
Or an eye received the light.
And I stood in awe at the wisdom,
The matchless skill and might
Of the great and good All Father,
Who rules by love and right.
When the great Earth swung in night,
Ere an ear had been created,
Or an eye received the light.
101
The matchless skill and might
Of the great and good All Father,
Who rules by love and right.
Who shed, over all His glory—
The beauty that round us glows;
Who fills the world with His bounty,
Tints every flower that blows,
And opens the gates of the morning
And gives the night's repose;
And quickens the tide of being
That over His universe flows.
The beauty that round us glows;
Who fills the world with His bounty,
Tints every flower that blows,
And opens the gates of the morning
And gives the night's repose;
And quickens the tide of being
That over His universe flows.
And I dreamed of the life immortal,
Where the gardens of Paradise lie,
Clothed in a living splendor,
Never seen by mortal eye;
The mansions—the homes eternal,
Airy and vast and high,
And Life's river, pure as crystal,
Whose fountains shall never dry.
Where the gardens of Paradise lie,
Clothed in a living splendor,
Never seen by mortal eye;
The mansions—the homes eternal,
Airy and vast and high,
And Life's river, pure as crystal,
Whose fountains shall never dry.
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |