Classic Poem

The Moon is shining on her way,
The planets yet undimm'd by sleep,
Drink light from the far-flaming day,
Who still is hid beyond the deep:
BuThere both men and Spirits weep,
And Earth all mourneth unto air,
Because there liveth nothing fair,
Nor great, save on the azure steep.

And on that hill of Heaven, none
Of human strength or thought may climb;
For there bright Angels lie alone,
Reposing since the birth of Time.
They bask beneath HIS looks sublime;
But nought of ease or hope is here,
Where sleep yields nought but dreams of fear,
And error all the pains of crime.

The Moon is come, — but she shall go:
The stars are in their azure nest;
The jaded wind shall cease to blow;
But when shall we have hope or rest?
Now some are sad, and some are bless'd;
But what to us is smile or sigh?
Though Peace, the white-wing'd dove, be nigh,
It ne'er must be the Spirit's guest!

Behold! The young and blooming Hour
Comes shining through the gate of morn,
And we awhile must quit our power,
And vanish from a world we scorn.
Look! Flattering sin begins to dawn
From man's false lips and woman's eyes,
And hopes and hearts are racked and torn
In God's green earthly paradise!