| |
| THE GOLDEN stars keep watch aloft; | |
| Unmarked the moments glide along, | |
| Save that around me scatters oft | |
| Yon nightingale his pearls of song:— | |
| |
| The hum of men, the roar of wheels, | 5 |
| That filled the streets erewhile, are gone; | |
| The inner consciousness but feels | |
| The lovely river rolling on. | |
| |
| The course of thoughts and being, pent | |
| As waters ere they plunge below, | 10 |
| Reflects a downward firmament | |
| Of life and things, in gleamy show. | |
| |
| Thus rest, so hushed with airs of balm | |
| That reach them from their promise land, | |
| The righteous souls, in stillest calm | 15 |
| Laid up in their Redeemer’s hand. | |
| |
| All that has been, and all that is, | |
| Back from their thoughts in light is given, | |
| Deep firmaments of inward bliss | |
| Far glittering into distant heaven. | 20 |
| |
| The while, side-heard as in a dream, | |
| The ages strike their solemn chime; | |
| And from the ancient hills the stream | |
| Rolls onward of predestined Time. | |
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