Poems : patriotic, religious, miscellaneous / by Abram J. Ryan [electronic text]

FEAST OF THE ASSUMPTION.

"A NIGHT PRAYER."

Dark! Dark! Dark! The sun is set; the day is dead: Thy Feast has fled; My eyes are wet with tears unshed; I bow my head; Where the star-fringed shadows softly sway I bend my knee, And, like a homesick child, I pray, Mary, to thee.

Dark! Dark! Dark! And, all the day — since white-robed priest In farthest East, In dawn's first ray — began the Feast, I — I the least — Thy least, and last, and lowest child, I called on thee! Virgin! didst hear? my words were wild; Didst think of me?

Dark! Dark! Dark! Alas! and no! The angels bright, With wings as white As a dream of snow in love and light, Flashed on thy sight; They shone like stars around thee! Queen! I knelt afar — A shadow only dims the scene Where shines a star!

Dark! Dark! Dark! And all day long, beyond the sky, Sweet, pure, and high, The angel's song swept sounding by Triumphantly; And when such music filled thy ear, Rose round thy throne, How could I hope that thou wouldst hear My far, faint moan?

Dark! Dark! Dark! And all day long, where altars stand, Or poor or grand, A countless throng from every land, With lifted hand,

Winged hymns to thee from sorrow's vale In glad acclaim; How couldst thou hear my lone lips wail Thy sweet, pure name?

Dark! Dark! Dark! Alas! and no! Thou didst not hear Nor bend thy ear, To prayer of woe as mine so drear; For hearts more dear Hid me from hearing and from sight This bright Feast-day; Wilt hear me, Mother, if in its night I kneel and pray?

Dark! Dark! Dark! The sun is set, the day is dead; Thy Feast hath fled; My eyes are wet with the tears I shed; I bow my head; Angels and altars hailed thee, Queen, All day; ah! be To-night what thou hast ever been — A mother to me!

Dark! Dark! Dark! Thy queenly crown in angels' sight Is fair and bright; Ah! lay it down; for, oh! to-night Its jeweled light Shines not as the tender love-light shines, O Mary! mild, In the mother's eyes, whose pure heart pines For poor, lost child!

Dark! Dark! Dark! Sceptre in hand, thou dost hold sway Fore'er and aye In angel-land; but, fair Queen! pray Lay it away. Let thy sceptre wave in the realms above Where angels are; But, Mother! fold in thine arms of love Thy child afar!

Dark! Dark! Dark! Mary, I call! Wilt hear the prayer My poor lips dare? Yea! be to all a Queen most fair, Crown, sceptre, bear!

But look on me with a mother's eyes From heaven's bliss; And waft to me from the starry skies A mother's kiss!

Dark! Dark! Dark! The sun is set; the day is dead; Her Feast has fled; Can she forget the sweet blood shed, The last words said That evening — "Woman! behold thy Son! Oh! priceless right, Of all His children! The last, least one, Is heard to-night.