TO A MOONBEAM. BY MARGARET MILLER DAVIDSON. Aн, whither art straying, thou spirit of light, Why lookest thou down from the empire of night, Thou art resting here on the autumn leaf, But oh, what pictures of joy or grief, Thou art glancing down on the ocean waves, Thou art piercing deep in its coral caves, Where the green-haired sea-nymphs dwell! 222 TO A MOONBEAM. Thou art silently roaming through forest and glade, Thou art lighting the grave where the dust is laid, Thou art looking on those I love! oh, wake And perchance thou art casting this mystic spell Where the dear ones of earth have departed to dwell, Oh yes! with that soft and ethereal beam, Thou hast looked on the mansions of bliss, 'Tis a mission of love, for no threatening shade Can be blent with thy spirit-like hues, And thy ray thrills the heart, as love only can thrill, And while raising it, melts and subdues. And it whispers compassion; for lo, on thy brow Is the sadness of angels enshrined, TO A MOONBEAM. And a misty veil, as of purified tears, Hail, beam of the blessed! my heart Has drunk deep of thy magical power, Sweet ray, I have proved thee so fair In this dark world of mourning and sin, May I hail thee more bright in that pure region, where Nor sorrow nor death enter in. 223 |