Amid the majesty of night,
What splendid vision strikes my eyes,
In glory bursting on the sight,
Forth from the northern skies? Is it the cloud of shadowy mist
That folded Loda's spirit form,
The warrior from his toil dismissed,
Or dæ mon of the storm? No! Not to Superstition's sprites,
Wild offspring of the human brain,
Be these ascribed, the loftiest rites
In Nature's holiest fane! Nor let unmeaning wonder eye
This glorious child of light and air;
The majesty of Deity
Is manifested there! O'er all the widespread northern skies,
How glows and waves that heavenly light,
Where dome, and arch, and column rise
Magnificently bright! Magnificent, yet mild, it seems;
Not dazzling as the orb of day,
More like the soft moon's silvery beams,
Its calm, ethereal ray. And every thing is calm around;
'Tis Nature's stillest, holiest hour!
The cloudless sky, with bright stars crowned,
Tells of its Maker's power. E'en thus the light of Christian truth
Shines o'er our path, in mercy given,
To guide the erring steps of youth
From earth's vain joys, to Heaven. And thus, O Father! May the light
Of virtuous deeds and pious love
Beam on our course, through trouble's night,
And point our path above!