The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1890-08-17
A sABRATH REVERE.

Softly the summer landscape falls the hush OF
coming night;
All the land Is fair and fragrant. all the world Is
full OF light
just at sunset! Earth seems waiting in this hour OF
perfect bliss
Smiling up in blushing beauty for the sunlghts
farewell kiss.
Slowly down the long, green hillside fall the shin
ing rays OF gold,
Stealing through the colored window of a chapel.
quaint and old.
Here the sunlight loves to linger in the Sabbath
cleaning fair,
Rendering the last touch of beauty to the perfect
picture there
All is SILENT save the m urmur OF the waters. soft
and sad
And the bIrd-songs in the branches, grown so ten
der, true and glad
And the summer wind low whispering mid the
-elms upon the shore,
Waiting the sweet scent of roses through the broad
halfopened door.
Beautiful the little chapel in its crimson color,
bright,
With its stately pillars cleaning in the sunsets rosy
light.
Just within the altarraiIing is stand Of flowers
fair,
Dewy ferns and snowy lilies twined with Junes own
roses
Near the stand cross of marble; on the pale gold
wall above
Hangs a picture of our Saviour, with his tender
smile Of love,
And his eyes so full Of pleading while he seems to
whisper low.
Peace! My blessed peace give youi peace the
world can never knowP'
Near the chancel tall and stately stands the organ
half in gloom,
While before It, seated silent, in the sacred, shad
owy room,
Is maiden young and graceful. with a face both
pure and true,
With casped hands and eyes upiftsd-eyes like ylo-
lets, brave and truei
All in white, with snow-white rosebuds at her
throat and in her hair,
All in white so pure and pleading, all so still and
sweet and fair
With the loving light about her, in this peaceful
sunset hour,
She. herself is but rosebud. soon to boom-a per-
feet flower.
Music, always sweet, seems sweetest at the sunset
hour in June.
When earth's summer anthem RISES and our own
hearts sing In tune,
AS our world, then pure and peaceful seems to
breathe OF heavens calm,
So music seems an echo of the angels blessed
psalm.
And the maiden. softly playing all her own hearts
longing prayer,
Thrills with some strange, subtle magic all the
scented, summer air.
Like the rOseerowned St. Cecilia playing strains so
rare, so clear
O'er the battements OF heaven even angels bend TO
hear.
Softly through the silent shadows steals that strain
of music low,
Like the wind and murmuriug waters, breathing sad
and sweet and slow,
Telling first of days long vanished then OF dreams
and iongings vain,
End f,,.In NJ
doubt and pain,
And the winds moan through the branches, and the
birdllngs cease their song,
All the summer night seems darkened by SAD
thoughts OF doubt and wrong,
But the sunlight Gods own message to the lonely
and the sad,
Softly breathes of hope aud blessing, of future
bright and glad.
And again the music changes; tenderly pleading
prayer
From her heart 1t rises filling all the dim.
scented air;
Trembling now as fall her teardrops, slowly sadly
one by one
Now grown brave. the sweet strains whisper, "Not
my viii, but thine be done!'
Wide the heavenly gates seem opened in the glow
Ing, golden west,
While the holy hush of heaven Ger the whole world
seems to rest;
And his voice so true and tender whispers through
the silent shade,
Peace My perfect peace leave you; be not
troubled nor afraidr'
Upward, strong and full of triumph. rises now the
music sweet,
Telling of that peace and comfort OF that love and
life complete,
One long strain prayer for courage patience still
to work and walt,
Then glad song of thanksgiving passes through the
golden gate.
All is STILL The whispers to the earth its last
good-by
And the and gold and violet fade upon the
western sky;
And the winds and waters whisper all the world is
hushed TO sleep,
While the silent stars, like angels. DER the land
their vigils keep.
Considerable, Aug. 1890 ALICE E. STONE.