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Poem by Harriet Beecher Stowe
Not of the earth that music! all things fade; Vanish the pictured walls! and, one by one, The starry candles silently expire! And now, O Jesus! round that silent cross A moment's pause, a hush as of the grave. Now rises slow a silver mist of sound, And all the heavens break out in drops of grief; A rain of sobbing sweetness, swelling, dying, Voice into voice inweaving with sweet throbs, And fluttering pulses of impassioned moan, Ч Veiled voices, in whose wailing there is awe, And mysteries of love and agony, A yearning anguish of celestial souls, A shiver as of wings trembling the air, As if God's shining doves, his spotless birds, Wailed with a nightingale's heart-break of grief, In this their starless night, when for our sins Their sun, their life, their love, hangs darkly there, Like a slain lamb, bleeding his life away!
Harriet Beecher Stowe
Harriet Beecher Stowe's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org