 | Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights |  |
CHAUNT OF HOPE.
Through the dark, selfish flesh-clouds that obscure
Our dear Humanity's divinest morning,
God's golden Sun beams down serenely pure,
Clothing our souls again with pure adorning.
Our dear Humanity's divinest morning,
God's golden Sun beams down serenely pure,
Clothing our souls again with pure adorning.
Truth now descends upon us, like the Dove
To Christ from Heaven, when unto Him was spoken
Those words of consolation from above—
Pouring Heaven's oil into our hearts when broken!
To Christ from Heaven, when unto Him was spoken
Those words of consolation from above—
Pouring Heaven's oil into our hearts when broken!
Rich beauty, like the dewy flush of morn,
Lives incarnated in the form of woman,
Our earthly Ideal of the Heavenly-Born—
Our Heavenly living in the Angel-Human.
Lives incarnated in the form of woman,
Our earthly Ideal of the Heavenly-Born—
Our Heavenly living in the Angel-Human.
113
True love is born with an eternal youth,
And brightest burns in darkest night of sorrow—
Pure as the Dove's divine connubial truth—
Telling to-day what it will be to-morrow.
And brightest burns in darkest night of sorrow—
Pure as the Dove's divine connubial truth—
Telling to-day what it will be to-morrow.
Her soft caressings fall with Dove-like peace
Upon our thorny pillows, ever trying—
Bringing unto our souls that sweet release
Which only Angels bring unto the dying.
Upon our thorny pillows, ever trying—
Bringing unto our souls that sweet release
Which only Angels bring unto the dying.
1840.
| Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights | |