Midnight Watching

O, beautiful! beautiful! beautiful!
          Swart Midnight on her ebon throne,
          Like an Indian Princess, sits alone,
          With a mantle of glory across her breast,
          In whose broad folds we are rocked to rest,
          And the gems of Orion’s star-belt set
          In the glowing zone of her carcanet, –
          And a low sweet song on her mystic tongue,
                    That now we hear in the waking ear,
          And now to the soul of the sleeping is song!

A wonderful! wonderful! wonderful!
          The silence of this Midnight hour
          Is deep with thought, and strong with the power
          Of a spirit-passion untainted of earth,
          And yearning aloft to the land of its birth;
          The Angels are nearer, and Heaven is not far; 
          The eye-light of love lives in planet & star;
           ‘Tis the rustling of robes that seem brushing the sod,
                    And the waving, aves, of bright wings, that
          And we feel with a deep thrill the inflowing God.

A sanctity! sanctity! sanctity! 
          The day has no hour that is holy as this 
          The earth has no joy like this tear-dropping skies,
          The star-dome above us grows warm in the breath
          Of the dear ones we gave to the white arms of Death,
          We feel there’s soft fingers lift up the damp hair
          On brows that had throbbed with the pulse of despair
          We feel their warm kisses dropped down on the lip
                    Like half-opened lilies whose morning dew still is
Less sweet than the seal of their dim fellowship