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The Stars
Night's wanderers! why hang ye there
With angel look so bright;
As if ye stooped, bright sons of air!
From some far distant height?
With angel look so bright;
As if ye stooped, bright sons of air!
From some far distant height?
Ye gaze upon the sleeping earth,
Like mother o'er her child;
And ye too saw its infant birth,
And looked on it, and smiled.
Like mother o'er her child;
And ye too saw its infant birth,
And looked on it, and smiled.
And come ye now, when day grows dim,
To bend the listening ear;
And meet the heaven-ascending hymn
From hearts to you so dear?
To bend the listening ear;
And meet the heaven-ascending hymn
From hearts to you so dear?
Why hear I not that seraph voice,
That woke with earth's first morn;
And do ye not, bright ones, rejoice
As when ye saw it born?
That woke with earth's first morn;
And do ye not, bright ones, rejoice
As when ye saw it born?
Ah! voiceless now each golden lyre
Has slumbered many a year;
And each new day ye see expire
Is numbered by a tear.
Has slumbered many a year;
And each new day ye see expire
Is numbered by a tear.
Yet still ye turn the tearful eye
Upon earth's wayward course;
For love divine can never die,
Too deep, too pure its source!
Upon earth's wayward course;
For love divine can never die,
Too deep, too pure its source!
31
And years shall come—when once again
Your golden lyres shall swell
That sweet, that long forgotten strain,
For aye on them to dwell.
Your golden lyres shall swell
That sweet, that long forgotten strain,
For aye on them to dwell.
Poem No. 353; 22 December 1835
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