POETRY.
TWILIGHT.
THE Sunrise waits behind Heaven's gates, Unclosed of lagging Morning ; In shadows slow the world below
Fore-greets it, self-adorning. •
The sweet song-bird is rising heard, The cold, grey light is growing, To herald still on every hill The red Sun's royal flowing.
The still dark night foresees the light.
Before her heat she lends us ; And waning far, the dwindling star Its mystic message sends us.
In glowing pride of prospect wide The firmament uncloses ; And wakes to bliss with stooping kiss The petals of the roses.
The watch.dog's sleep, serene and deep, Breaks on the morning's breaking, - And pillowed head that mocked the dead From dream to work is waking.
The sons of toil in earth's turmoil Come forth ere day to labour; And lazy wealth outsleeps his health, To compensate his neighbour.
The world of sound springs up around, In murmurs waxing ever ; And wearied men are armed again, To face the long endeavour.
We know not, we, what this may be, The mystery of ages, • Which day by day writes lives away • On unremembered pages.
But calm at least, they watch the East, For victory or disaster, Who firmly hold the best the old, And Faith alone the Master.
HERMAN MER WALE.
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