Poems (Chitwood)/An Hour of Peace
AN HOUR OF PEACE.AN EXTRACT.
The fair, the lovely world!—methinks, to-day,
There is a brightness in the placid skies,
But this sweet hour revealed. I know not why
Such strange and wild emotions rock my head
To tones I never, never heard before.
Oh, there are hours when angels take our hands,
And lead us through fair valleys where the light
Shines like a prism, hours when the cares of earth
Roll from our spirits as the sullen mists
Of early morn before the King of Day.
So it is now; and my unfettered soul
Rises on white wings far above the glooms
Of ebon night, where sometimes we do grope,
With no faith arm to lean on. This sweet hour,
Life seems so good a blessing, earth the gate
Half opened into Eden. Many a time
Mine eyes have looked upon this very scene:
The quiet valley, where the meadow larks
Start singing upward from the waves of grass,
Their light wings moist with dew; the tiny rill,
Plashing along the stones; the woodland deep,
Whose sweet-lipped leaves keep whispering to the winds;
The emerald hills, the snowy village spires,
And cottage roof half shadowed o'er with leaves,
All form a pleasant picture; oft my eyes,
Have grown half dim while gazing on the scene.
But never till this hour my heart hath throbb'd
With every pulse a rapture, not till now
Has such pure incense floated like a cloud
From my heart's altar, as I offered thanks
To the good God that he hath made the world
So fair a place to tarry, the brief while
That he hath made us pilgrims going home.
There is a brightness in the placid skies,
But this sweet hour revealed. I know not why
Such strange and wild emotions rock my head
To tones I never, never heard before.
Oh, there are hours when angels take our hands,
And lead us through fair valleys where the light
Shines like a prism, hours when the cares of earth
Roll from our spirits as the sullen mists
Of early morn before the King of Day.
So it is now; and my unfettered soul
Rises on white wings far above the glooms
Of ebon night, where sometimes we do grope,
With no faith arm to lean on. This sweet hour,
Life seems so good a blessing, earth the gate
Half opened into Eden. Many a time
Mine eyes have looked upon this very scene:
The quiet valley, where the meadow larks
Start singing upward from the waves of grass,
Their light wings moist with dew; the tiny rill,
Plashing along the stones; the woodland deep,
Whose sweet-lipped leaves keep whispering to the winds;
The emerald hills, the snowy village spires,
And cottage roof half shadowed o'er with leaves,
All form a pleasant picture; oft my eyes,
Have grown half dim while gazing on the scene.
But never till this hour my heart hath throbb'd
With every pulse a rapture, not till now
Has such pure incense floated like a cloud
From my heart's altar, as I offered thanks
To the good God that he hath made the world
So fair a place to tarry, the brief while
That he hath made us pilgrims going home.