[SONNET.]
The moon is gliding on her clear blue way:
I've watched her, as she rose above the clouds which lay
Darkly along the horizon; as she threw
A glorious halo round them, and then drew,
With her still power, away the fogs which night
Gathers upon the earth; then touched with light
The tree-abounding city, till its stately domes
Of Gothic and of Dorian art, and quiet homes,
Slept 'neath a sea of beauty. Then, sweet lady, I
Was bidden in my heart, remember thee—
How thou hast risen in thy angel purity,
And light of heavenly truth, to beam on me,
And scatter far the darkness, doubts, and fears,
Which rose from out the tomb of my young misspent years.
G. P. T.
[STANZAS.]
Thine is the hour of joy;
The heart untouched by sorrow,
And bliss without alloy
Is pictured on to-morrow:
To-morrow!—it may come
To robe thy brow in sadness,
Make desolate thy home,
And rob thy heart of gladness.
But fear thou not the storm,
Though it pass in fury o'er thee;
The rainbow's smiling form
Still bends its arch before thee:
It tells thee joy may fade,
And winter strip the bower,
Hope in the grave be laid,
And withered every flower:
Yet there's a home on high,
Where sorrow enters never,
Where pleasure cannot die,
And friendship lives for ever.
'Tis where the good are blest
With happiness unending
A world of heavenly rest,
And there thy steps are tending!