Classic Poem

Again it was the Noon of Night,
The full orb'd moon her car rolled high,
And fringed with gems of silver light
The azure curtains of the sky.

And all the glittering host of stars,
Stood marshall'd in their bright array,
While, far across the concave blue,
Lay stretched the spangled milky way.

And earth all beautiful and fair,
Lay tranquil as a sleeping child
Beneath a watchful parent's care;
While guardian Heav'n looked down and smiled.

The trees all bathed in tears of Night,
Seemed deck'd with gems of Ophir's gold,
And lilies, in pure vestal white
Their spotless fragrant leaves unfold.

In gentlest breath the night-winds sigh,
While fleecy clouds like Angel's wings,
Light sailing o'er the azure sky,
Their shadows cast o'er earthly things.

O who could deem that aught so fair,
So filled with beauty and perfume:
Was but a mighty sepulchre,
A vast, capacious mould'ring tomb?

Or who could deem that mis'ry dwelt
Within a paradise so fair,
That want and pain and woe and guilt
Mingled as sad companions there?

But see where yonder moonbeams creep
In that lone crevice, low and small,
And throws a struggling, sickly beam
Upon the cold, damp dungeon's wall.

See by that feeble, glimm'ring ray,
Low seated on the damp chill ground
A mother sits, whose tearful eye
Is cast in gloomy sadness round.

Beside her lies her only son:
Her lap the pillow for his head.
That son must meet the convict's doom,
When the brief hours of night have fled.

The mother speaks: "Oh see, my son,
Light breaks upon your dungeon wall!
It is a messenger to thee;
Methinks it is thy Saviour's call.

"Dost thou not feel it on thy soul?
And wilt thou not His call obey?
His blood alone can cleanse from sin,
And wash thy guilty stains away."

"Oh, Mother, yes, I feel His power,
E'en as I see yon gentle ray;
His blessed voice now says 'Thoul't be
In Paradise with me this day.'"

Joy filled this waiting mother's heart;
"Let us to God the glory give."
They knelt in humble, grateful prayer,
For Jesus bade that sinner live.

And Angels hov'ring o'er the scene,
Clapped their glad wings and flew to Heav'n
To strike anew their golden harps,
For peace on earth and sin forgiv'n.

And the rapt seraphs round the throne,
Loud anthems to the Saviour raise;
While cherubims with transport burn,
And Heav'ns high dome resounds with praise.

And when the hangman's task was done,
Joy filled the stricken mother's breast.
She felt her dear misguided son,
Through Jesus' blood, had sunk to rest.

And while she linger'd on the earth,
Glory to God was hourly given,
For that mysterious spirit's birth,
That makes the soul an heir of Heav'n.