Hangs, stormed with stars, the night,
Deep over deep;
Each star a point of light
In God’s high keep.
In God’s?—Perhaps.—Of such
We can not tell,
Who shrink—and is it much?—
To say farewell.
There ’tis the dawn and lark:
Here ’tis the wail,
Sobbed through the ceaseless dark,
O’ the nightingale.
But what were all this worth
To thee or me,
Were there not, after earth,
Eternity?
God gives us life to keep.—
And what hath life?—
Love, faith, and care, and sleep,
Where dreams are rife.
Death’s sleep! whose shadows start
The tears in eyes
Of Love, who breaks his heart,
Despairs and dies.
And faith is never given
Without some care,
Perhaps that leads to Heaven
By ways of prayer.
The nightingale and dark
He gives us here:—
Oh, for the light and lark
Eternal there!