Classic Poem

I SAT , last Sunday evening,
 From sunset even till night,
At the open casement, watching
 The day's departed light

Such hours to me are holy,—
 Holier than tongue can tell;
They fall on my heart like dew
 On the parched heather-bell.

The sun had shone bright all day;
 His setting was brighter still;
But there sprang up a lovely air
 As he dropped the western hill.

The fields and lanes were swarming
 With holyday folks in their best,
Released from their six days' cares
 By the seventh day's peace and rest.

I heard the light-hearted laugh,
 The trampling of many feet;
I saw them go merrily by,
 And to me the sight was sweet.

There's a sacred, soothing sweetness,
 A pervading spirit of bliss,
Peculiar from all other times,
 In a Sabbath eve like this.

Methinks, though I knew not the day,
 Nor beheld those glad faces, yet all
Would tell me that Nature was keeping
 Some solemn festival.

The steer and the steed in their pastures
 Lie down with a look of peace,
As if they knew 'twas commanded
 That this day their labor should cease.

The lark's vesper song is more thrilling,
 As he mounts to bid heaven good night;
The brook sings a quieter tune,
 The sun sets in livelier light;

The grass, the green leaves, and the flowers,
 Are tinged with more exquisite hues;
More odorous incense from out them
 Steams up with the evening dews.

So I sat, last Sunday evening,
 Musing on all these things,
With that quiet gladness of spirit
 No thought of this world brings.

I watched the departing glory,
 Till its last red streak grew pale,
And earth and heaven were woven
 In twilight's dusky veil.

Then the lark dropped down to his mate,
 By her nest on the dewy ground,
And the stir of human life
 Died away to a distant sound

All sounds died away—the light laugh,
 The far footstep, the merry call—
To such stillness, the pulse of one's heart
 Might have echoed a rose leaf's fall.

And, by little and little, the darkness
 Waved wider its sable wings,
Till the nearest objects and largest
 Became shapeless, confuséd things.

And, at last, all was dark; then I felt
 A cold sadness steal over my heart;
And I said to myself, “Such is life!
 So its hopes and its pleasures depart!

“And when night comes,—the dark night,—
 What remaineth, beneath the sun,
Of all that was lovely and loved?
 Of all we have learned and done?

“When the eye waxeth dim, and the ear
 To sweet music grows dull and cold;
And the fancy burns low, and the heart—
 O heavens! can the heart grow old?

“Then what remaineth of life
 But the lees, with bitterness fraught?
What then?”—but I checked as it rose,
 And rebukéd, that weak, wicked though

And I lifted mine eyes up, and lo!
 An answer was written on high,
By the finger of God himself,
 In the depths of the dark blue sky

There appeared a sign in the east;
 A bright, beautiful, fixéd star!
And I looked on its steady light,
 Till the evil thoughts fled afar:

And the lesser lights of heaven
 Shone out with their pale, soft rays,
Like the calm, unearthly comforts
 Of a good man's latter days;

And there came up a sweet perfume
 From the unseen flowers below,
Like the savor of virtuous deeds,
 Of deeds done long ago;

Like the memory of well-spent time,
 Of things that were holy and dear;
Of friends “departed this life
 In the Lord's faith and fear.”

So the burden of darkness was taken
 From my soul, and my heart felt light:
And I laid me down to slumber
 With peaceful thoughts that night.