SLOW through the solemn air, in silence sailing,

Borne by mysterious angels, strong and fair,

She sleeps at last, blest dreams her eyelids veiling,

Above this weary world of strife and care.

Lo how she passeth!—dreamy, slow, and calm:

Scarce wave those broad, white wings, so silvery bright;

Those cloudy robes, in star-emblazoned folding,

Sweep mistily athwart the evening light.

Far, far below, the dim, forsaken earth,

The foes that threaten, or the friends that weep;

Past, like a dream, the torture and the pain:

For so He giveth his beloved sleep.

The restless bosom of the surging ocean

Gives back the image as the cloud floats o'er,

Hushing in glassy awe his troubled motion;

For one blest moment he complains no more.

Like the transparent golden floor of heaven,

His charmed waters lie as in a dream,

And glistening wings, and starry robes unfolding,

And serious angel eyes far downward gleam.

O restless sea! thou seemest all enchanted

By that sweet vision of celestial rest;

Where are the winds and tides thy peace that haunted,—

So still thou seemest, so glorified and blest!

Ah, sea! to-morrow, that sweet scene forgotten,

Dark tides and tempests shall thy bosom rear;

And thy complaining waves, with restless motion,

Shall toss their hands in their old wild despair.

So o'er our hearts sometimes the sweet, sad story

Of suffering saints, borne homeward crowned and blest,

Shines down in stillness with a tender glory,

And makes a mirror there of breathless rest.

For not alone in those old Eastern regions

Are Christ's beloved ones tried by cross and chain;

In many a house are his elect ones hidden,

His martyrs suffering in their patient pain.

The rack, the cross, life's weary wrench of woe,

The world sees not, as slow, from day to day,

In calm, unspoken patience, sadly still,

The loving spirit bleeds itself away.

But there are hours when, from the heavens unfolding,

Come down the angels with the glad release;

And we look upward, to behold in glory

Our suffering loved ones borne away to peace.

Ah, brief the calm! the restless wave of feeling

Rises again when the bright cloud sweeps by,

And our unrestful souls reflect no longer

That tender vision of the upper sky.

Espoused Lord of the pure saints in glory,

To whom all faithful souls affianced are,

Breathe down thy peace into our restless spirits,

And make a lasting, heavenly vision there.

So the bright gates no more on us shall close;

No more the cloud of angels fade away;

And we shall walk, amid life's weary strife,

In the calm light of thine eternal day.