By Charles Sangster



     When Evening folds her wings of light,
          And bathes her rosy cheeks in dew,
     And one pale star proclaims the night,
          From its exalted throne of blue:
     My soul! how eager hast thou leaped,


          Cribbed and imprisoned as thou art,
          To be of these a shining part,
     In their ethereal essence steeped!
And on this altar, on this heart of clay,
Hast offered sacrifice, and bore away


An incense sweet of Prayer above that starry ray.

     When Night flings wide her ebon gates,
          And Darkness, like a flood, pours in,
     Shewing the star-born choir that waits
          Its psalm seraphic to begin:


     How hast thou caught their burning words,
          That never fall on worlding ears,
          Hast filched the hymning of the spheres, [Page 124]
     As it was swept from nature’s chords;
Hast known and felt that every ray of light


Brings to our ears a portion of that bright
And star-lipped anthem that pervades the solemn night.

     When o’er the everlasting hills
          The golden Morning soars sublime,
     And Day’s triumphant Pæan fills


          The heavens, as in that primal time
     When first the birds rehearsed their songs
          In groves by Angels’ visits blest:
          Worshipping Soul! some heavenly guest
     To thy diviner moods belongs!


In the old Forest, with the whispering trees,
Morn, Eve and Night, thou learnest melodies,
Extracts sweet music from the warbling breeze,
Thou hast my heart forever on its bended knees! [Page 125]