"In the night His Song shall be with me." --Psalm 42: 8 When Sol has sunk behind the West
And night her mantle spread,
And somnus lulls the world to rest
Upon his downy bed. Should balmy slumbers take their flight
How sweet the wakeful hour
Could we employ our thoughts aright
On God's creating power! For he whose thoughts are placed above
Cares not for things beneath,
And he whose heart is fill'd with love
Has lost the fear of death. The Royal Psalmist greatly loved
To meditate by night
And felt the truth, which God approved,
His comfort and delight. And I like Israel's poet king
Would my short vigil keep,
I feel so happy while I sing
I scarcely care to sleep. 'Tis sweet to court the sacred muse
And sing of joys to come,
And gaze upon the cloudless views
Of my eternal home. 'Tis sweet in darkest shades of night
Beneath the howling blast
To bring before the mental sight
The scenes of seasons past. The happy scenes of buoyant youth
When pleasures sweetest ray,
Health, peace, hope, innocence and truth
Illum'd my blissful day. Or think of days when joyful spring
Shall come with all her train,
And give a smile to everything
That decks the verdant plain-- Shall come arrayed in vernal hues
To scatter fragrant flowers,
And bathe the grass with cooling dews
And soft salubreous showers. Or think of days when Sol's bright beams
Shall richer scenes pervade,
While cattle seek the cooling streams
Or else the Sylvan shade. Or view the fields so richly green
Where happy lambkins play,
While nature paints the joyous scene
In colours fresh and gay. Or look at Autumn's yellow leaf,
Or brighter scenes explore,
When reapers bind the ripened sheaf
To fill the farmer's store. Or think of Winter's chilling blast,
When nights are cold and drear,
The sky with storm-clouds overcast,
Foreboding dread and fear. But let the howling tempest blow,
And storms successive come,
For social joys shall brighter glow
Within my happy home. Thus, as the seasons pass along,
My grateful thanks I'll raise,
Until I sing the higher song
Of everlasting praise.
- S. Moore