A Tranquil Moment

A Tranquil Moment

While yet the evening bell with dulcet tongue
In solemn peals upon the breeze is flung,
Which sound like holy guardians of the air
That breathes around the house of praise and prayer;
Affrightening by their overwhelming strain
Far from the hallowed dome each sound profane;
While yet they vibrate softly on my ear,
Ere yet another worshipper appear,
I sit me down in my accustom'd pew,
And bid the earth and earth-born cares adieu!

If in a world of turbulence like this

There be one moment snatched from upper bliss,
Whose peace divine bespeaks it to belong
Not to the restless, care-encircled throng
Of days and nights to earthly pilgrims given,
But to be served from the days of heaven -
A moment parted for the hours that run
From the bright fountain of th' Eternal Sun -
A drop of water from the upper sea,
From the waters of eternity -
It is this moment, spent alone with GOD,
In His own house, ere it by man is trod,
The evening bell, soft pealing thro' the pile,
While through its windows evening sunbeams smile -

Oh! from these sunlit "loopholes of retreat,"

To the lone muser's eye, the view how sweet!
Sweet to that eye whose chasten'd glances roam
On no vain mission from the sacred dome;
Yea, every outward glance is richly fraught
With the calm elements of holy thought.
Pensive it lights upon the heaving tomb,
Whose glossy hill day's parting beams illume;
And reads death's story in the rising mould,
While life seems in its light and verdure told.
Awhile to commune with the dead it stoops,
There thro' another casement, meets the groups
Of living ones who pour the joyous tide
From the gay hamlet through the portals wide.
Which from intrusion guard the holy ground,
Where sleep their sires the sleep of death profound!

It beams approval as its flight is stayed

On motley crowd in Sunday garb arrayed,
Of tottering age, gay youth, and manhood strong,
Who churchward press the grave-lined path along;
Cheerful, yet tranquil as the evening ray
That loves to linger on their dresses gay.
Now o'er the tombs it sees their shadows thrown,
Many, perhaps, are shadowing their own?

Wide ope the portals of the holy dome -

His sons and daughters tread their father's home
The muser joys that his retirements shroud
Is rent by presence of th' adoring crowd.
The bell is mute - the opening hymn begun,
With whose last dying strains the evening sun
At parting, smiles upon the man in white,
Whose vestment folds, illumined by his light,
Attract the eyes of the admiring crowd,
As from the sacred tomb he reads aloud
Some Scripture, apt his hearers' mind to raise
To the glad work of thanks, and prayer, and praise!

Unattributed

1:43, p. 4

1837.10.28

From the Dublin Christian Examiner