Patrick Regan has kindly shared the material from his George Heath site with readers of the Victorian Web, who may wish to consult the original.
Sinks the sun beyond the mountains,
As the bell's last echo dies,
Slowly melts the lambent glory
From the hazy western skies.
Upward from the east in silence,
Comes the great calm empress, Night,
With her dusky tresses trailing,
From her forehead gem-bedight;
Softly creeping through the valleys,
Closing up the drooping flowers,
Flooding all the nooks with shadows,
Blotting out the distant towers;
Healing parched and languid nature,
With her wealth of balmy dews,
As a word of gentle kindness
Failing strength and hope renews:
Steeping in the balm of Lethe
Mortal senses, sorrows, woes,
Lulling, as a gentle mother
Lulls her darling, to repose.
From the silent meads and valleys
Misty exhalations rise,
Like the incense of an offering,
Up into the milky skies;
Nature cheered and renovated,
Vocal woods and streams exclaim.
In a thousand whispering voices —
"Maker, hallowed be Thy name!'"
All those orbs of wondrous beauty,
Spangling o'er the firmament,
Constellations slowly rising
From the shadowy orient;
Mystic signs for ever moving,
O'er one vast unmeasured track,
Gems that stud the wonder-girdle
Of the circling zodiac.
Moons and satellites empyrean,
Wheeling round each central blaze,
In the hazy ebon concave,
Far beyond our finite gaze;
Teeming worlds on worlds of chaos,
Sweeping on with silent grace,
Round the myriad suns and systems,
Through the vasty realms of space;
All are chanting in their motions,
In their bright, unflickering flame,
In their wondrous revolutions,
"Blessed and hallowed be Thy name,"'
Weary frames, worn out with battling
In the restless, feverish strife,
Pressing o'er the toiling, moiling,
Panting, wrestling, race of life.
Hearts bowed down and almost broken,
Shrinking 'neath their fleshly load,
Tempted, tried, afflicted travellers,
Almost fainting on the road,
Taste again the sweets of comfort,
Bask in Love's all-healing looks,
Read again each precious promise
In the well-worn Book of books.
Lay their failings on the altar,
And for grace and pardon sue,
Feel the hallowed influence stealing
Softly o'er them, like the dew;
Till each soul, renewed and strengthened,
Quits in thought this mortal frame,
Murmuring, as it soars unfettered,
"Father, hallowed be Thy name!'"
Oh! thou great all-glorious Being,
Thou who read'st each secret motive
Hear'st the softest whispered prayer;
Thou, whose mighty hand has written
Nature's grand stupendous tome,
Thou, who scatterest worlds like sand-grains,
O'er yon blue ethereal dome;
Thou, who mad'st and fashioned all things,
Gave them motion, light, and breath,
Fixed'st laws, by which creation
Works her own strange birth and death;
Thou, before whose face adoring,
Angels veil themselves and fall,
Thou, whom seraphs chant for ever,
Holy! Holy! Lord of all;
Thou, whose power exalts the humble,
Teachest babes to lisp Thy fame,
Oh! Thou great all-ruling Spirit,
Blessed and "hallowed be Thy name!"
Last modified 3 September 2002
Last modified 3 September 2002