Poems (Helen Jenkins)/Twilight

For works with similar titles, see Twilight.

TWILIGHT.

Sweet Twilight! 'Tis the holiest hour
Of all the glorious day;
When the burning sunlight in the west
Fades silently away,
And the gorgeous clouds which hung around
The dying Day-king's head,
Into the mystic, shadowy gray
Of evening softly fade;
While darkness, stealing o'er the earth,
Brings strange, fantastic beauties forth.

The sun upon the western hills
Lingers a little while,
Casting around his kingdom vast
A last departing smile:
More brilliant than the day's full light,
The splendor of that beam,
Making the train which round him wait
With brighter glories gleam;
Flashing the dazzling army o'er;
Then, vanishing, is seen no more.

Now Twilight over hill and glen
As soon is seen to glide,
And kneel beside the gilded couch
Where the proud monarch died;
Her flowing robes agleam with tints
Of silver and of gold,
As, weeping pearly tears of dew,
She gathers up each fold,
Then drops a curtain o'er the west
Where sank her mighty sire to rest.

A feeling of sublimest awe
Her presence doth inspire,
So soon she spreads a dreamy shade
O'er sunset's glowing fire;
And with a rapturous wonder
Blends a delirium sweet,:
When o'er the earth she lightly hies,
Her sister, Eve, to meet;
And hand in hand they pass from sight,
Leaving the star-crowned empress, Night.

O God, how beautiful this world!
How great Thou art, how wise!
How passing fair and wonderful
Thy works around us rise!
Thou art supremely good,
And infinite in power.
O, who could doubt a hand divine,
To see and feel this hour?
I must adore, else I were blind:
Keep Thou such darkness from my mind.