I stood in the Temple of Silence Where in crimson splendour shone, The rich light through stained windows O’er a matchless crystal throne. And a vista of stately pillars Stretched far ’neath a dome of gold, And sculptured recumbent figures Of mortals of kingly mould. Yet with all its surpassing beauty I could feel the icy breath Of the wings of some brooding phantom In this gilded house of death. Here no sound ever broke the stillness, Here solitude ever abode, I stayed till the moonbeams quivered, Then left Silence alone with God.
I stood in the Palace of Pleasure, The revels were wild and gay, And mocking laughter rose and fell As the swift hours sped away. The lights waxed dim, and the flowers Drooped dead in the gorgeous bowls, And the painted faces anon grew sad, And mirthless their empty souls. The long night waned, and the dancers, Their beauty all faded and worn, Looked pallid, and listless, and weary, In the rays of the glorious morn. Ever seeking ephemeral pleasure, Which leads to the path of pain, And down to the Valley of Never, Whence none may return again.
I stood in life’s Garden of Beauty, And, lo! in a floral shrine Of roses and lilies entwining Lay a chalice of dew divine. And a throng of mortals stood waiting For the Angel of Love to pour This holy dew of libation, Which falleth for evermore. And children were weaving garlands As they walked o’er the verdant sward With the flowers of Truth and Perfection In sunlight which ever poured. And here, in this new earthly Eden, With its gleaming wings of white, Was Peace, for all men were Brothers-- I awoke from my dream: “’Twas night!”
Come, oh song, and charm my sadness, For I fain would weep, With melodious notes of gladness Wooing balmy sleep. While the troops of stars are smiling Calm my fevered brow, All my soul with sound beguiling, Charm, oh! charm me now. Golden daylight hath its laughter, Moonlight hath its tears; Songs are dreams which follow after Thought along the years. Waves of joy, and waves of sorrow, Placid, turbulent, Darkest days have bright to-morrows, Each a message sent. Love and life on wings are flying, Dreams of yesterday, Like the precious hours, are lying Far from us to-day. Sing, then, sing your sweetest number Softer than a sigh, That it bring me dreamless slumber For my weary eye. And thy song shall be for dreamers Tender, soft, and low, And the tune that Boreas murmurs, Which none others know. Waft, oh voice of song, thy measure O’er the air of even, Till the soul, consumed with pleasure, Wakes to thoughts of Heaven.