STARLIGHT. BY CELIA THAXTER. HE chill, sad evening wind of winter blows Across the headland, bleak and bare and high, Rustling the thin, dry grass that sparsely grows, And shivering whispers like a human sigh. The sky is thick with stars that sparkle keen, A fleeting moment, and the earth seems dead - The stars of fire, the tiny stars of ice, The awful whirling worlds in space that wheel, The dainty crystal's delicate device One hand has fashioned both and I, who kneel Here on this winter night, 'twixt stars and snow, As transient as a snowflake and as weak, Yearning like all my fellow-men to know His hidden purpose that no voice may speak, In silent awe I watch his worlds: I see A human lifetime! Reason strives in vain Of wistful patience, there to watch and wait Between us and the future He has planned. Yea, Death alone. But shall Death conquer all? Than any voice respond to his wild prayer. And yet, what fire divine makes hope to glow All depths of pain wherein we strive and wait! Dull is our sense! hearing we do not hear. And seeing, see not; yet we vaguely feel Somewhere is comfort in the darkness drear, And, hushing doubts and fears, we learn to kneel. |