Albert Laighton (1829–1887)

NIGHT and its dews come silently to earth,

Like kindred mourners to the grave of Day;

The stars look on with pale and throbbing ray,

As if through tears to watch them on their way:

O holy NIGHT! what thoughts awake to birth,

That slumber in the day, amid its din

And restless strife for gain,—its glare and sin!

But NIGHT! care-soothing NIGHT!—O, I would win

Thy crown of peace, and wear it on my brow;

Here, at thy starry throne I bend my knee,

All weak and humbled. I look up to thee,

And bless thee for the joy thou giv’st me now,—

A joy so hushed and deep, I tremble, lest

Dream-like, it fade away within my breast!