American Female Poets [an electronic edition]

VISIONS OF LIGHT.

THE moon is rising in beauty, The sky is solemn and bright,And the waters are singing like lovers That walk in the valleys at night.

Like the towers of an ancient city, That darken against the sky, Seems the blue mist of the river O'er the hill-tops far and high.

I see through the gathering darkness The spire of the village church, And the pale white tombs, half hidden By the tasselled willow and birch.

Vain is the golden drifting Of morning light on the hill; No white hand opens the windows Of those chambers low and still.

But their dwellers were all my kindred, Whatever their lives might be, And their sufferings and achievements Have recorded lessons for me.

Not one of the countless voyagers Of life's mysterious main, Has laid down his burden of sorrows, Who hath lived and loved in vain.

From the bards of the elder ages Fragments of song float by, Like flowers in the streams of summer, Or stars in the midnight sky.

Some plumes in the dust are scatter'd, Where the eagles of Persia flew; And wisdom is reap'd from the furrows The plough of the Roman drew.

From the white tents of the crusaders The phantoms of glory are gone, But the zeal of the barefooted hermit In humanity's heart lives on.

Oh, sweet as the bell of the sabbath, In the tower of the village church, Or the fall of the yellow moonbeams In the tasselled willow and birch —

Comes the thought of the blessed issues That shall follow our social strife, When the spirit of love maketh perfect The beautiful mission of life:

For visions of light are gather'd In the sunshine of flowery nooks, Like the shades of the ghostly Fathers In their twilight cells of books!