The Liberator

THE SKY
How beautiful the sky!
I wonder not its gorgeous ways have seemed
The heavenly circles trod by angel feet:
Its homes of light for spirits only meet,
That never, never die;
There spread the realms unknown, the eternal plain;
Thence silent dews descend as angels' tears;
There, Day and star-crowned Night alternate reign,
And the light-woven bow, God's sign of peace, appears.
How lovely in the morn;
Wave after wave-a rosy-tinted tide.
Afar, o'er all the East, is gently rolled.
Till the broad Heaven with the bright hue is dyed.
And sing the morning stars, as when of old.
A glorious race was born;
Proudly upriseth then the King of Day,
Girt with a dazzling robe of golden light;
The gladdened earth smiles in the ruddy ray.
And the old hoary peaks glow with a circle bright
In summer days how fair!
When tinkling rills have hushed their hurried flow,
And weary winds have sighed themselves to sleep;
When the leaved forest whispers soft and low.
And stillness settles even on the deep
And earth seems wrapt in prayer;
The gazer on the azure, arched expanse,
Decked as to mortal skill was never given,
Unconscious, seems to look, with eager glance,
Beyond those emerald hills into the gates of Heaven!
How glorious the West:
When the red Titan seeks his ocean halls
Tis like a flaming Paradise of gold;
Or like a boundless range of ruby walls,
Where myriad crimson banners are unrolled
Out from the blazing crest
Of mimic mountains pours the fiery rain;
Bright streams of silver wind through verdant vales
Enchanted cities stud the golden plain;
But the dim twilight comes-the cloud-creation fails.
How beauteous by night;
When, soft and clear, the paly planets beam,
And night's fair Queen ascends her silver car
And poets, rapt with Nature's beauty, deem
They hear their solemn music from afar.
And tremble with delight;
When waving flames stream up the northern sky.
As it were Nature's sacrificial fire :
On the swift meteors wildly glare on high;
Bright types of human pride-they glitter and expire!
How solemn and sublime !
When the storm-spirit rushes from his throne,
And hurls his lightning-arrows through the sky
fills the heavens with his deep thunder-tone,
And bids the clouds in murky masses fly
As oft at even time;
Lo, a pale beauty struggling with a host
Of dark despoilers, seems the Queen of Night
Triumphant now, now trampled down and lost;
Smiling in victory now with pure and placid light!
Thou ever-varying sky-
Yet beautiful in every changing clime:
Vainly I strive thy loveliness to tell;
But, when I gaze upon thy vault sublime,
Deep reverence binds my spirit as a spell.
Each gorgeous dye,
The shadowed night, the day's refulgent crown,
The rosy morn and peaceful evening hour,
The smiling light and fearful tempest frown,
All mirror forth God's majesty, and love, and power!

From Bentley's Miscellany.