Of the day's turmoil. Still the glory spread

Cloud-top to cloud-top, and each rearing head

Trembled to crimson. So a mighty breath

From some wild Titan in a rising ire

Might kindle flame in voicing his desire.

Soft stirred the evening air; the pine-crowned hills

Glowed in an answering rapture where the flush

Grew to a blood-drop, and the vesper hush

Moved in my soul, while from my life all ills

Faded and passed away. God's voice was there

And in my heart the silence was a prayer.

[Pg 50]

There was a day when to my fearfulness

Was born a joy, when doubt was swept afar

A shadow and a memory, and a star

Gleamed in my sky more bright for the distress.

The stillness breathed thanksgiving, and the air

Wafted, methought, the incense of a prayer.

Heaven sets no bounds of bead-roll or appeal;

And when the fiery heart with mute embrace

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