When the curtain of twilight drops over the earth,
Hiding all of its trouble and strife,
And stills with its shade the noisy mirth,
And steals the care from our life,
We love to yield to the magical powers,
And wander with thought through Fancy's bowers.
Careless of pleasures that are near or afar,
Forgetting this sad world below;
We turn our eyes to yon bright evening star,
Watching where they twinkle and glow;
Wheel on, brilliant worlds, in your circle above,
Guided through all space by the Father we love.
That Father so great He can mark out your path,
So gentle he watches the bird;
While man whispers to us of terrible wrath,
Through Nature love's accents are heard;
Then stop, as you call down the vengeance of heaven,
And list to the whispers that creep through the even.
You teach unto us this great love exceedeth
The love that 's felt by a mother;
You tell unto us the pity that pleadeth
For man as a poor lost brother;
And then you turn round and condemn him forever,
And hurl him across the Plutonian river.
Think you, should we wander through fields Elysian,
And miss in that circle so bright,
One form that was dear to our earthly vision.
That all the angels in white
Gould lift from our souls the shadow of sorrow?
It would rankle deep as a poisoned arrow.
Ah! a true mother's love is past all power
Of the tongue or pen to tell it,
'T will cling to her child to the latest hour;
All the world could not buy or sell it:
If this is so great, what must be that other,
Which reacheth beyond the love of a mother!
There are some who will not be ruled by terror,
Even to reach the pearly gate;
And some who wander the dark road of error,
And for the teacher wait and wait:
Remember, 't was unto the sick the Healer came,
Then go ye doing likewise in your Saviour's name.
He came not down from heaven to save the pure,
But for those lost in vice and sin;
For these the cross and shame did he endure,
For these the crown of victory win;
If His mighty love hath not the power to save,
How many breaking hearts will last beyond the grave?
When the pale boatman comes to row us o'er,
And we stand upon the border land,
Shall we not see upon that distant shore,
Our loved ones' beckoning hand?
Would it be heaven, if we knew they were lost,
Although we joined the most seraphic host?
We grope in darkness searching for the light,
Then oh! condemn not if ye chance to see
A ray hid from the others in their night—
Our lives are full of mystery;
And only He who can unwind the skein
Can solve the mysteries in life's dark train.
