Poetry: The Waning Moon

I've watched too Iate; the morn is near, Ono look at God's brosd silent sky! Ob, hopes and wishes vainly dcnr, IIow in your vory strength ye die! Even while your glow ie on the choek, Anti caree the high pursmt begun, The henrt grows fruit. II? hand growa weak, The tak of üfe is left undone. Se?, where, upon the horizon' brim, Lies the htill cloud in gloomy bar?, The waning umon, nl! pale nnd dim, Goesup aniid the eternal etars. Lnie in a flood of tender liglit, She floate.l through tlio ethereu! olu-, A softer sun, tlmt shone all night Upon the gathcring heads of dew, And stül thou wanest, pallid inoon! Thoencroaching shadows grow npnee; Heaven's eveflnsting watchers soon, Simll see thee blotted from thy 'place. Oh, Night's dethroncd nd crownless qncen, VVell may thy sad, oxpinncr ray, Be shed on those wliose eyea have eecn, Hope's glotious viswns fade away. Shine then fot fonns that once were biight, For saces in the toir.d's eclipse, For those whosc worda were spW of might, But falter now on slanimering lips. In thy decaying beam there lies Full many a gravo on hill and plain, Of those who closed theii dying öyëa In grief that they hnd lived in vuin. Another night, and thou among The spherea of lioaven hall ceaseto shine, All rayless in vhe ghttcring throng Vhosclustre lale was qnenched iu thine. Yet Eoon a new and tender Hght From out thy darkencd orb isiiall beam, And broad-n till it shine all night On glistcning dew and gümmering streaty.