Classic Poem

Earth's lamps are growing dim;
The Church's early hymn
Comes up in slow, soft sound,
Like music from the ground;
Her old prophetic psalm
Fills the deep twilight calm!

Not yet his blossom-wreath
Of beams from climes beneath,
The happy sun has bound
These mountain-peaks around;
Hardly yon cloudlet high
Has caught the radiancy.

Only the stars look pale,
As if some luminous veil
Were passing o'er their face,
Taking, yet adding grace,
Hiding, yet giving light
To these fair gems of night.

The beacon-lights still gleam
Along the ocean-stream,
Goes up no city-smoke,
No city-hum has broke
Earth's sleep, or sounded forth
Another morning's birth.

Shake off from us the night,
O God! As sons of light
Prepare us for the day,
That at the first faint ray
Of morn in eastern skies
We may with joy arise.

What though night's silence still
Broods over plain and hill;
These shades will soon be past,
The Daystar comes at last,
And we shall welcome him
With our clear morning hymn.