The earth to-night is bright with flowers, Unnumbered stars are in the sky; Oh, lovely are these midnight hours, When heaven so lovely looks on high; When every little star that glows, We deem a spirit's blest abode; And hear from every flower that blows, A voice that calls us nearer God; When, floating on the balmy air, Come unseen ministers of light;— I wonder why they hover there, And what they do in heaven to-night!
Come those pure spirits from above, To nerve our almost fainting hearts? Whispering divinest words of love, That strengthen as each hope departs? Come they to warn us of the ills We, weaklings, cannot comprehend; The fate that hovers near, and thrills Our being even to its end? Come they to tell us of the love For us in Heaven's halls of light? I would we all could meet above— I would I were in heaven to-night!
For one is there, whose mild blue eye My heart hath vainly yearned to see; A dweller in that blessed sky, Unknown to all but heaven and me; For when the dark death-angel came, He placed within my heart a sign That, though he left me but a name, The soul should mingle yet with mine. And, by the promise given, I feel, When flowers are wet and stars are bright, As on the fragrant earth I kneel, Thou surely art in heaven to-night.
I've heard it said, that in the still, Hushed hour, when none but poets dream, When all is slumbering but the will, All silent save the forest-stream; Then they, the dead, will from the fold Of heaven's own gate in silence glide, To those they love, and take their old Accustomed places by their side. If this be true, why should a tear Dim now that exquisite delight That thrills in thinking thou art here, Close nestling by my side to-night?
Listen! for I will question thee, Wanderer, who hast from heaven come; And I would have thee answer me, Of all the hours now dead and dumb;— Where dwell those birds of paradise, That soared away on radiant wing, Ere we could number half their dyes, Or learn the song they loved to sing? There dwelt a spirit in those hours, That could not lose its precious light;— Do they, like earth's transplanted flowers, Abide above in heaven to-night?
And tell me if, amidst the throng That round the Father's presence kneel, And elevate their souls in song, As heaven's diviner love they feel,— If there is one, whose life below Was little else than wasted hours; Whose bounds were rifled long ago, Of healthful fruits and passion-flowers. Say, if in yon fair world his soul Hath yet recovered from its blight; And far beyond earth's dark control, Exists above in heaven to-night?
And tell me if thou pleadest for me, That all my sins may be forgiven, And I, at last, may float with thee, Amidst the azure depths of heaven? I know, if those expressive eyes Their old imploring smiles retain, My prayers will not unanswered rise, Nor thy sweet pleadings be in vain. Oh, dearly loved! if thou art here, Teach me to study life aright; Oh, early lost! if thou art near, Go! plead for me in heaven to-night!
How long shall earth my spirit claim, How long until I win the race, How long till I can name thy name, And greet thee gladly face to face? I would not that the world should steal From heaven and thee one single thought And yet, I almost dread to feel That thou wilt sometime be forgot. Must many slow years by me creep, Ere I shall heavenward take my flight? Or shall I, falling soon asleep, Wake up with thee in heaven to-night?
I feel a soft hand gently laid With warning pressure on my heart, Saying, all further question stayed, My soul must act its destined part, Must, calmly waiting, count the hours, Bright heralds of eternal day; And, gazing on the stars and flowers, Strive to be innocent as they. Yet be not from my side away, In the lone watches of the night; But come, and teach me how to pray, As thou dost pray in heaven to-night!
