by Patience Worth
When the lilacs lie upon the rosy West, with
The hallowed sun o'erspread upon their plumes,
And the swallow, circling swings unto the eaves,
And the late fields still send up
The scent of fresh cutting;
When the first wick is lit in the valley,
And the smoke threads from the chimney's pit;
When my feet wend through the homeward path-
There is my Cathedral!
Before the Earth stirs her men to wake,
When the coolness of Night's lips still press
The hillocks, and the head of Night
Still reclines upon the valley's bosom;
When the morning star stands guard,
And the angels seem watchful-near,
There is my Prayer!
When the Night is sleeping, and the sky
Is pitchy dark; when there is no sound
Save the chatter of the nestlings,
And the stir of some weary beast;
When Earth hath forgot-
There is my Amen.
Last updated January 14, 2019