Day-Dawn 1839

Who hath not seen, when some one, high in power,

Is landing on a foreign coast, how long

The people stand before the appointed hour,

And wait his coming? Then, at last, the throng,

Filling the streets, and strewn o’er house and tower,

Is shaken with a murmur deep and strong

Of ‘Lo! he cometh;’ and the myriads shower

One mighty welcome as he rides along.

Such is the earnest waiting, when the sky

Proclaims the sun is coming. Fog and mist

Are rent asunder, and the world’s great eye

Opens and smiles, by trembling Phosphor kissed.

He comes at last! With burst of glorious light,

He comes: and yet how meekly in his might!

Noon

How wearisome is sunshine to the sad! —

I have seen those who turned away from all

The gorgeous show of noon, as if it had

No power to make the human spirit glad.

To them the broad bright earth, the rise and fall

Of many wood-crowned hills, all richly clad

In one unwavering splendour, was as gall,

Or, at the best, but coldly natural.

God! what a high invaluable gift

Is a new heart! Grown old in sin, we weep

To find that nothing more, nor flower, nor sun,

Nor open sky, nor shady mountain rift,

Can warm us as of old: —that life is done,

And all its dreams have faded into sleep.

Night

A windy midnight! Heavy clouds are swinging

High up in air, and feverishly flinging

Along the dusky earth a duskier shade.

And see! Through yon deep rent the moon is winging

Her hurried way, all wild and tempest-frayed;

Now, like a lone and banished seraph, clinging

To some dark cloud-edge, there a moment stayed—

Then drifting downwards without hope or aid.

How dim and awful! Was it so of old,

Before the world was made, when nothing lived

Save God alone, and seeds of beauty rived

The dark at random, like yon orbs of gold? —

But lo! a glorious change. The clouds are gone;

And all the land with holy light is strewn.

Quebec, 15 September 1839