BY GEORGE H. BOKER.
Like an army with its banners, onward marched the mighty sun,
To his home in triumph hastening, when the hard-fought field was won;
While the thronging clouds hung proudly o'er the victor's bright array,
Gold and red and purple pennons, welcoming the host of day.
Gazing on the glowing pageant, slowly fading from the air,
Closed my mind its heavy eyelids, nodding o'er the world of care;
And the soaring thoughts came fluttering downward to their tranquil nest,
Folded up their wearied pinions, sinking one by one to rest.
Till a deep, o'ermastering slumber seemed to wrap my very soul,
And a gracious dream from Heaven, treading lightly, to me stole:
Downward from its plumes ethereal, on my thirsting bosom flowed
Dews which to the land of spirits all their mystic virtue owed.
And when touched that potent essence, Time divided as a cloud,
From the Past, the Present, Future rolled aside oblivion's shroud;
And Life's hills and vales far-stretching full before my vision lay,
Seeming but an isle of shadow in Eternity's broad day.
On the Past I bent my glances, saw the gentle, guileless child
Face to face with God conversing, and the awful Presence smiled—
Smiled a glory on the forehead of the simple-hearted one,
And the radiance, back reflected, cast a splendor round the throne.
Saw the boy, by Heaven instructed through earth's mute, symbolic forms,
Drinking wisdom with his senses, which the higher nature warms;
Saw that purer knowledge mingled with the worldling's base alloy,
And the passions' foul impression stamped upon his face of joy.
O, I cried to God in anguish, is this boasted wisdom vain,
For which I, by night and sunshine, tax my overwearied brain;
Till, alas! grown too familiar with the thoughts that knock at Heaven,
I would further pierce the mystery than to mortal eye is given?