The Morning Star.

A poem by Walter R. Cassels

Night's heavy hand is lifted up at last,
And my freed heart beats evenly again,
Unpress'd by that dull heavy weight of pain
Cast backward from the unforgotten Past;
Darkness no longer muffles Time's slow tread,
Till my own pulse-beat mark the moment fled.

Over the speeding shadows, calm and clear,
Rises the Star of Morn upon the Earth,
Eternal Prophet of the Sun-god's birth,
Shining serenely from its silver sphere
Mute mystic meanings on the strengthen'd soul,
Till all its night-bred vapours backward roll.

Oh, bright-eyed Angel of the undimm'd Light,
Standing upon Heaven's pinnacle, thy glance
Pierces like two-edged sword through many a trance,
Dividing Truth from Dreaming in its might,
Scourging Doubt's myriads from Day's temple-gate,
Leaving Life's worship pure, its heart elate.

No herald thou of Night, like Hesper fair,
Pale with the dreaded Future's shapeless gloom,
Leading the spirit to an unknown doom,
Through clouds and darkness heavy fraught with care,
Hesper the beautiful alone our guide,
Beset by blinding fears on every side.

Groping through Night's dim chambers wearily,
Longing to leave its cold sepulchral aisles,
Comest thou with thy calm assuring smiles,
Like Nemesis to lead us tenderly
Through all the dangers of the murky way,
Unto the golden portals of the Day.

Yea! Night and Death shall pass away, and we,
By resurrection sweet, arise new-born
Like thee in glory, bright one, Sons of Morn,
Without a shade on our felicity,
Eyeing the fleeting vapours of the Past,
As thou dost now Night's mists dissolving fast.

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