Poems (Ford)/Beneath the Stars

BENEATH THE STARS.

In the holy hush of even,
When the day has gone to rest,
And her cares and doubts and trials
Sleep like babes upon her breast,
When no busy strife or bustle
The sweet, dreamlike quiet mars,
Oh, what fancies flit before us
As we sit beneath the stars.

Starry jewels blaze and glitter
In the night's imperial crown,
Like the clear, pure eyes of angels
Looking coldly, calmly down;
And the flash of pearly portals,
And the gleam of golden bars,
Pass before us in our musing
As we gaze upon the stars.

Oh, had we the mystic vision
Of Chaldea's seers of eld,
Who in the blue scroll above them
The great fate of worlds beheld,
What commotions and what changes,
What fierce triumphs, toils and wars,
Might we read in silver letters
On the tablet of the stars.

When the soft, blue sky of even
Seems an inland lake at rest,
With the gleaming, snow-white lilies
Sleeping on its peaceful breast,
Oft the busy hand of Fancy
Pushes back the golden bars,
Till we seem to see the glory
Of the world beyond the stars.

Then the fleecy cloudlets, floating
In the moonbeams' pearly rays,
Seem like wings of wandering angels,
Slowly sailing through the haze;
Or like straying peris, drifting
In their light, aërial cars
From their paradise of beauty
In the world beyond the stars.

Starry lamps seem watchfires lighted
By some loved, departed hand,
To allure our wandering footsteps
To the distant spirit-land,
So that, looking through the dimness
That the earthly vision mars,
We may bow in adoration
Before Him who made the stars.

When at last life's toils are over,
And we fold our hands in rest,
As day folds her rosy pinions
In the chambers of the West,—
When its mortal bands no longer
The freed spirit's flight debars,
May we rise to dwell forever
In the world beyond the stars.