Classic Poem

Sickness like Night -

II. — SICKNESS LIKE NIGHT

Thou art like Night, O Sickness! deeply stilling
Within my heart the world's disturbing sound,
And the dim quiet of my chamber filling
With low, sweet voices by Life's tumult drown'd,
Thou art like awful Night! — thou gather'st round
The things that are unseen — though close they lie, —
And with a truth, clear, startling, and profound,
Givest their dread presence to our mental eye.
— Thou art like starry, spiritual Night!
High and immortal thoughts attend thy way,
And revelations, which the common light
Brings not, though wakening with its rosy ray
All outward life: — Be welcome then thy rod,
Before whose touch my soul unfolds itself to God.English