And through the folding doors, The eye of thought explores Seraphic forms, and phantasies elysian. These pass like thought away! Rest on the heart,-as dew-drops round adorning The drooping, silent flowers Feed them through night's dark hours, And keep them fresh and living till the morning. Thus should the sunset hour, With soul-absorbing power, Nurse by its glories the immortal spirit; And plume its wings for flight To realms of cloudless light, Regions its God hath form'd it to inherit. Fair, bright, and sweet is MORN! In all its beauty is to sense appealing; With more unearthly thought, And purer touches of immortal feeling! EVENING. ANON. A CRIMSON glow adorns the western sky; The setting sun looks broad at his decline The star of Evening twinkling, smiles on high, NIGHT. MONTGOMERY. NIGHT is the time for rest Stretch the tired limbs, and lay the head Night is the time for dreams; When truth that is, and truth that seems, Ah! visions, less beguiling far Than waking dreams by day-light are! Night is the time for toil; Till all is ours that sages taught, Night is the time to weep; To wet with unseen tears Those graves of memory, where sleep Hopes, that were angels at their birth, Night is the time to watch; And sings, "The hand that made me is Night is the time for care; divine." The silent moon begins her journey bright; Across the ether blue, serenely glides; And smiling o'er the gloomy face of night, Sublime in placid majesty she rides. Religion thus, across this world of care, Calmly majestic throws her peaceful beam, Bids earth's dull scenes a heavenly aspect wear, And all creation with fresh beauty teem. Brooding on hours mispent, Like Brutus, 'midst his slumbering host, Night is the time to think; Discerns beyond the abyss of night AND now on earth the seventh Evening arose in Eden, for the sun Of Godhead, fixed for ever firm and sure, Now resting, blessed and hallowed the se venth day, As resting on that day from all his work, Choral or unison of incense clouds, thee, or tongue Relate thee! Greater now in thy return So sung they, and the empyrean rung With hallelujahs: thus was Sabbath kept. THE SABBATH. HERBERT. O DAY most calm, most bright, The fruit of this, the next world's bud, Th' endorsement of supreme delight, Writ by a friend, and with his blood; The couch of time, care's balm and bay! The week were dark, but for thy light: Thy torch doth shew the way. The other days and thou Man hath straight forward gone The which he doth not fill. Sundays the pillars are, On which Heaven's palace arched lies: And hollow room with vanities. Which parts their ranks and orders. The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on Time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife |