Poems (Ford)/Beneath the Stars

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BENEATH THE STARS.
In the holy hush of even, When the day has gone to rest,And her cares and doubts and trials Sleep like babes upon her breast,When no busy strife or bustle The sweet, dreamlike quiet mars,Oh, what fancies flit before us As we sit beneath the stars.
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Starry jewels blaze and glitter In the night's imperial crown,Like the clear, pure eyes of angels Looking coldly, calmly down;And the flash of pearly portals, And the gleam of golden bars,Pass before us in our musing As we gaze upon the stars.
Oh, had we the mystic vision Of Chaldea's seers of eld,Who in the blue scroll above them The great fate of worlds beheld,What commotions and what changes, What fierce triumphs, toils and wars,Might we read in silver letters On the tablet of the stars.
When the soft, blue sky of even Seems an inland lake at rest,With the gleaming, snow-white lilies Sleeping on its peaceful breast,Oft the busy hand of Fancy Pushes back the golden bars,Till we seem to see the glory Of the world beyond the stars.
Then the fleecy cloudlets, floating In the moonbeams' pearly rays, ​Seem like wings of wandering angels, Slowly sailing through the haze;Or like straying peris, drifting In their light, aërial carsFrom their paradise of beauty In the world beyond the stars.
Starry lamps seem watchfires lighted By some loved, departed hand,To allure our wandering footsteps To the distant spirit-land,So that, looking through the dimness That the earthly vision mars,We may bow in adoration Before Him who made the stars.
When at last life's toils are over, And we fold our hands in rest,As day folds her rosy pinions In the chambers of the West,—When its mortal bands no longer The freed spirit's flight debars,May we rise to dwell forever In the world beyond the stars.
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