The Vesper Hour

Soft and holy Vesper Hour— Precursor of the night— How I love thy soothing power, The hush, the fading light; Raising those vain thoughts of ours To higher, holier things— Mingling gleams from Eden’s bowers With earth’s imaginings! How thrilling in some grand old fane To hear the Vesper prayer Rise, with the organ’s solemn strain, On incense-laden air; While the last dying smiles of day Athwart the stained glass pour— Flooding with red and golden ray The shrine and chancel floor. Who, at such moment, has not felt Those yearnings, vague, yet sweet, For Heaven’s joys at last to melt, Into fruition meet; And wished, as with rapt soul he viewed That glorious Home above, That earth’s vain thoughts would ne’er intrude On visions of God’s love? To this calm hour belongs a sway The bright day cannot wield— Sweet as the evening star’s first ray, Transforming wood and field; Soft’ing gay flowers else too bright And silvering hill and dell; And clothing earth in that mild light The sad heart loves so well.