The day is gone, the solemn night draws down; From the dim deeps their treasured splendors stream. She sleeps, like Jacob near the Syrian town; And earth and heaven commingle in her dream. Her faithful life is drawing to a close, Its labors and its cares she leaves behind; And mirror-like, her peaceful visage shows A trusting heart and a will disciplined. Low as the wavelets whisper to the sand, Soft as the moonlight's message to the sea, Low, soft, and sweet, here in the border-land, The mortal's call to immortality. She hears the mother-song of long ago, She breathes the verse that was her evening prayer; Her brow is whiter than the sifted snow, Her lips and heart are silent, she is there. There, where the troublings of the wicked cease; There, where the tired pilgrim is at rest; There, in the haven of eternal peace,— God's city with the mansions of the blest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DRUMS AND BRASS by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON GOSSAMER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON RETURN (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO GALLANT FRANCE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO MY CLASS: ON CERTAIN FRUITS AND FLOWERS SENT ... SICKNESS by SIDNEY LANIER MARJORIE'S WOOING by EMMA LAZARUS |