Brief pageant! minions of the sun, With him the hues in gloom decline; Then think on the Eternal One, Sun of the soul, At whose control Outpours the living light divine, The grace that turns life's water into wine. THE CHURCH TOWER AT SUNSET. See with a radiance noontide never gave Our little tower fling back the evening gold! Like to a sunlit rose upon a grave, Like to a star upon the midnight wave, When all of earth that was so bright and brave Is waning into dusk obscure and cold. So in the nightfall of that dread decay When worlds their borrowed lustre shall resign, They who o'erlooked her on her lowly way, They who despised her in her robes of clay, Shall in the glory of her opening day Bow down abashed before the Bride Divine. SUMMER SUNSET. I saw the summer sunset die On golden clouds beyond the rain, I saw the dying Christian lie Bright-eyed amid a weeping train. I read on evening's roseate pile Hope of a lovelier day than this; I hailed in that expiring smile Assurance of eternal bliss. [Illustration] THE COMET. Lone one, wilt thou no signal pass, Thy mission to declare, Whether a world-destroying mass, Or flame-flower of Elysian grass, Or seraph's burning hair? Or may be torch from hearth unknown Upheld by powers unseen, Each pacing their appointed zone In mute procession one by one A thousand years between. Let Time shake out my dribbling sand; Who would not die to see The eternal treasures of a land Whose glories shine above a strand With waifs and strays like thee! THE ROCKET. The child who sees the rocket fire Its arch of stars o'er tower and plain, Laments to find them all expire, And but a worthless wand remain. And such with all its soaring sound Is eloquence despite of art, Whose flashy flights the ear astound, But leave no light within the heart. THE GIRANDOLA AT ROME. O suns! O founts! O domes of fire, O palaces of seraph kings! O shining ones who all aspire To fan the stars with flaming wings! My soul, what gracious glorious power To hue and radiance God hath given! I felt as though for half-an-hour I stood before the gates of Heaven. Now all is dark, and so I bring With joy my splendid memories home, And think of heaven whene'er I sing The bright Girandola of Rome. [Illustration] THE MOON ON EARTH DISOWNED, IN HEAVEN ENTHRONED. When first behind the woods arose The moon with red distempered fire, We feared beyond the hilly close Some conflagration dire. But see her now enthroned on high, Clear of the thwarting trees, She glows upon the watchet sky God's seal of golden peace. So spirits rich in grace divine Misunderstood, distorted, here, Shall with unsullied lustre shine In Heaven's congenial sphere.