 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
84
THE CHAMBER CALLED PEACE.
On a hill-top, divested of trouble, I rested,
One blue, starry night,
In a fair eastern chamber, where vines strove to clamber
And play in the light.
There star-beams, uncertain, crept down through a curtain
Of thin, airy fleece;
There, veiling her brightness in silvery whiteness,
The moonlight, caressing, stole in with a blessing,
To the chamber called Peace.
One blue, starry night,
In a fair eastern chamber, where vines strove to clamber
And play in the light.
There star-beams, uncertain, crept down through a curtain
Of thin, airy fleece;
There, veiling her brightness in silvery whiteness,
The moonlight, caressing, stole in with a blessing,
To the chamber called Peace.
The mountains surrounding, with radiance abounding,
In the broad blaze of day,
Encircled my spirit, to strengthen and cheer it,
When the night-purple lay
Like a mantle upon them, and silence had won them,
Bold prophets, to cease
From their unfinished story of Infinite Glory:
But its echo, low-breathing, like incense came wreathing
The chamber called Peace.
In the broad blaze of day,
Encircled my spirit, to strengthen and cheer it,
When the night-purple lay
Like a mantle upon them, and silence had won them,
Bold prophets, to cease
From their unfinished story of Infinite Glory:
But its echo, low-breathing, like incense came wreathing
The chamber called Peace.
Though dripping November had quenched the last ember
Of autumn's red fire,
A presence enchanted the forest yet haunted;
It could not expire:
It lit the leaves, flying from winds feebly sighing
For summer's decease;
Touched the birches white-fingered, that silently lingered,
Where pine-choirs were sending an anthem unending
Through the chamber called Peace.
Of autumn's red fire,
A presence enchanted the forest yet haunted;
It could not expire:
It lit the leaves, flying from winds feebly sighing
For summer's decease;
Touched the birches white-fingered, that silently lingered,
Where pine-choirs were sending an anthem unending
Through the chamber called Peace.
85
In a still flood of amber, Dawn entered the chamber,
The sleeper to rouse.
A rose-cloud passed slowly—a messenger holy,
At pause for the vows
Of pilgrims awaking;—then lifting and breaking
From a rich, robing fleece,
Like an Eye fondly glowing, a Heart overflowing,
The sun, proud and tender, lit up with full splendor
The chamber called Peace.
The sleeper to rouse.
A rose-cloud passed slowly—a messenger holy,
At pause for the vows
Of pilgrims awaking;—then lifting and breaking
From a rich, robing fleece,
Like an Eye fondly glowing, a Heart overflowing,
The sun, proud and tender, lit up with full splendor
The chamber called Peace.
In that white, wayside dwelling, one pilgrim was swelling
Her heavenward lay:
The strength of the mountains, the joy of their fountains,
Had gladdened her stay:
The pine-trees' deep sighing, the wind's low replying,
For her soon would cease;
But a holier singing the angels were bringing
To her dawn-lighted chamber, all whiteness and amber,
Her chamber called Peace.
Her heavenward lay:
The strength of the mountains, the joy of their fountains,
Had gladdened her stay:
The pine-trees' deep sighing, the wind's low replying,
For her soon would cease;
But a holier singing the angels were bringing
To her dawn-lighted chamber, all whiteness and amber,
Her chamber called Peace.
O, joy was it, staying where angels were playing
The sweet airs of heaven
To one blest immortal, whose rest at the portal
Half open, was given.
While we, scarcely grieving, awaited her leaving,
Her hour of release,
Hills and heavens around us, like walls seemed to bound us,
Of a Home all unblighted, a Mansion love-lighted,
A chamber called Peace.
The sweet airs of heaven
To one blest immortal, whose rest at the portal
Half open, was given.
While we, scarcely grieving, awaited her leaving,
Her hour of release,
Hills and heavens around us, like walls seemed to bound us,
Of a Home all unblighted, a Mansion love-lighted,
A chamber called Peace.
For, on earth or in heaven, to true hearts is given
One quiet abode;
One mighty Arm guards them, one blessing rewards them,—
The Presence of God!
The stars in declining fail not of their shining,
Through daylight's increase:
They who pass on before us leave dawn breaking o'er us,
Lighting up, through death's grating, our chamber of waiting,
Our chamber called Peace.
One quiet abode;
One mighty Arm guards them, one blessing rewards them,—
The Presence of God!
The stars in declining fail not of their shining,
Through daylight's increase:
They who pass on before us leave dawn breaking o'er us,
Lighting up, through death's grating, our chamber of waiting,
Our chamber called Peace.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |