 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
THE SUMMER EVENING HYMN.
With what a shadowing of her broad dim wings
Pale Twilight stealeth over vale and hill!
And what a floating crowd of fairy things
Render mute homage to her voiceless will!
Blest Eventide! thy silent coming brings
Remorseless Quiet and Contentment still,
Gay Fancies and rejoicing Hopes, that roll
Like fair stars o'er the shut lids of the soul.
Pale Twilight stealeth over vale and hill!
And what a floating crowd of fairy things
Render mute homage to her voiceless will!
Blest Eventide! thy silent coming brings
Remorseless Quiet and Contentment still,
Gay Fancies and rejoicing Hopes, that roll
Like fair stars o'er the shut lids of the soul.
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Welcome! reliever of midsummer heat!
A blessing waits upon thy bounty now:
Breath, that is bliss, attends the heart's deep beat,
And fresh winds fan the dull and weary brow.
Lo! how the sunset, in a showery sheet
Of rich light, waves along the horizon low,
While o'er yon isle its parting glories rest
Like Memory's brightness in the good man's breast.
A blessing waits upon thy bounty now:
Breath, that is bliss, attends the heart's deep beat,
And fresh winds fan the dull and weary brow.
Lo! how the sunset, in a showery sheet
Of rich light, waves along the horizon low,
While o'er yon isle its parting glories rest
Like Memory's brightness in the good man's breast.
The songbird lifts its voice in vesper praise
And then mid dewy leaves seeks out its nest,
And flocks and herds, that sleep on burning days,
Graze on the clover now like creatures blest;
'T is joy unto a heart that widely strays
O'er the dark sea of life and hath no rest,
To blend its sympathies with all that breathe,
And unto woods and streams its thoughts bequeathe.
And then mid dewy leaves seeks out its nest,
And flocks and herds, that sleep on burning days,
Graze on the clover now like creatures blest;
'T is joy unto a heart that widely strays
O'er the dark sea of life and hath no rest,
To blend its sympathies with all that breathe,
And unto woods and streams its thoughts bequeathe.
Along the gleaming brook, that purls and plays
Among the pebbles and o'erarching roots
Of this old elm—the haunt of careless days—
(Ah! little now their simple pleasure boots!)
Let me repose and with a heart of praise
Render meet thanks for every joy that shoots
Up from the hedge of thorns—the barren road—
Which year by year my faltering feet have trod.
Among the pebbles and o'erarching roots
Of this old elm—the haunt of careless days—
(Ah! little now their simple pleasure boots!)
Let me repose and with a heart of praise
Render meet thanks for every joy that shoots
Up from the hedge of thorns—the barren road—
Which year by year my faltering feet have trod.
It is no season for repining care,
And my free spirit falters not, for yet
There is a magic in the rosy air
And dewy earth, when summer's sun hath set,
That lifteth up my thoughts, in silent prayer,
Where human weakness or demurring let
Taints not the springs of Thought, whose secret home
Is in the twilight bowers of time to come.
And my free spirit falters not, for yet
There is a magic in the rosy air
And dewy earth, when summer's sun hath set,
That lifteth up my thoughts, in silent prayer,
Where human weakness or demurring let
Taints not the springs of Thought, whose secret home
Is in the twilight bowers of time to come.
The changeful beauty of the sunset sky
Fades softly o'er the blue of Alna bay,
Like hallowed thoughts of saints who meekly die,
Whose faith was true, whose deeds were just alway;
White clouds, that o'er the azure ocean fly,
Retain awhile the holy light of day,
Then all is dimness, stillness, soft repose,
The hour of love for Nightingale and Rose.
Fades softly o'er the blue of Alna bay,
Like hallowed thoughts of saints who meekly die,
Whose faith was true, whose deeds were just alway;
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Retain awhile the holy light of day,
Then all is dimness, stillness, soft repose,
The hour of love for Nightingale and Rose.
Gush, ye blue waters from your fountain dell!
Soar, ye dim mountains to the fading heaven!
The upland woods of Edgecomb softly swell,
The Camden hills, amid the dusky even,
Throned o'er the hoary pilgrim's holy well,
Like prophets stand—to whom all worlds are given.
The pensive heart, with all the world at rest,
Sleeps mid the shades of its own peaceful breast.
Soar, ye dim mountains to the fading heaven!
The upland woods of Edgecomb softly swell,
The Camden hills, amid the dusky even,
Throned o'er the hoary pilgrim's holy well,
Like prophets stand—to whom all worlds are given.
The pensive heart, with all the world at rest,
Sleeps mid the shades of its own peaceful breast.
In the deep woods of Damariscotta's glen,
Though rude yet holy, stands the ruined fane,
Devoted, in this wild of warrior men,
Ages ago, to God! the evening strain,
The morning prayer and psalm rose grandly then,
For lurking foes were near—a hideous train!
Few, feeble, faithful, there the pilgrims prayed,
And holy be THE Temple of the Glade.
Though rude yet holy, stands the ruined fane,
Devoted, in this wild of warrior men,
Ages ago, to God! the evening strain,
The morning prayer and psalm rose grandly then,
For lurking foes were near—a hideous train!
Few, feeble, faithful, there the pilgrims prayed,
And holy be THE Temple of the Glade.
The sacred places of the elder time
Retain no more their everlasting name,
But long their memory shall be held sublime
Who for their faith into the forest came,
Dared all the perils of a cruel clime,
And held their holy freedom ample fame;
Holier, a hut in ruins mid our woods
Than all Palmyra's marble solitudes.
Retain no more their everlasting name,
But long their memory shall be held sublime
Who for their faith into the forest came,
Dared all the perils of a cruel clime,
And held their holy freedom ample fame;
Holier, a hut in ruins mid our woods
Than all Palmyra's marble solitudes.
The valley brook hath now a mighty voice,
The larch and fir trees sigh their vesper hymn,
The Thousand Stars upon their thrones rejoice,
And Nature slumbers on her mountains dim.
Far from the throng of men and city's noise,
While shadows glimmer as they sink and swim,
My heart finds gladness in this tender gloom,
And deeply yearneth for the life to come.
The larch and fir trees sigh their vesper hymn,
The Thousand Stars upon their thrones rejoice,
And Nature slumbers on her mountains dim.
Far from the throng of men and city's noise,
While shadows glimmer as they sink and swim,
My heart finds gladness in this tender gloom,
And deeply yearneth for the life to come.
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |