Now the sun-lit hours are o'er, Rise up from thy shadowy shore, Happy Night, whom Chaos bore. Better is the peaceful treasure Of thy musings without measure, Than the day's unquiet pleasure. Bring the holy moon; so pale She herself seems but a veil For the sun, where no clouds sail. Bring the stars, thy progeny; Each a little lamp on high To light up an azure sky. Sounds incomprehensible In the shining planets dwell Of thy sister Queen to tell. Of that sister Nature saith, She hath power o'er life and breath; And her name is written Death. She is fairer far than thou; Grief her head can never bow, Joy is stamped upon her brow. She is full of gentleness, And of faith and hope; distress Finds in her forgetfulness. In her arms who lieth down Never more is seen to frown, Tho' he wore a thorny crown. Whoso sigheth in unrest If his head lean on her breast Witnesseth she is the best. All the riches of the earth Weighed by her are nothing worth; She is the eternal birth. In her treasure-house are found Stored abundantly around Almsdeeds done without a sound; Long forbearance; patient will; Fortitude in midst of ill; Hope, when even fear grew still; Kindness given again for hate; Hearts resigned tho' desolate; Meekness, which is truly great; Bitter tears of penitence; Changeless love's omnipotence: -- And nought lacketh recompense. In her house no tainted thing Winneth any entering; There the poor have comforting. There they wait a little time Till the angel-uttered chime Sound the eternal matin-prime. Then, upraised in joyfulness, They shall know her; and confess She is blessed and doth bless. When earth's fleeting day is flown All created things shall own, Death is Life, and Death alone. |