So Stainless And So Calm

George W. Bethune (1805-1862), Hymn to Night:

                    YES! bear them to their rest;
                The rosy babe, tired with the glare of day,
                The prattler, fallen asleep e’en in his play;
                    Clasp them to thy soft breast,
                                        O night!
                Bless them in dreams with a deep, hushed delight.

                    Yet must they wake again,
                Wake soon to all the bitterness of life,
                The pang of sorrow, the temptation strife,
                    Aye to the conscience pain:
                                        O night!
                Canst thou not take with them a longer flight?

                    Canst thou not bear them far
                E’en now, all innocent, before they know
                The taint of sin, its consequence of woe,
                    The world’s distracting jar,
                                        O night!
                To some ethereal, holier, happier height?

                    Canst thou not bear them up
                Through starlit skies, far from this planet dim
                And sorrowful, e’en while they sleep, to Him
                    Who drank for us the cup,
                                        O night!
                The cup of wrath, for hearts in faith contrite?

                    To Him, for them who slept
                A babe all holy on his mother’s knee,
                And from that hour to cross-crowned Calvary,
                    In all our sorrow wept,
                                        O night!
                That on our souls might dawn Heaven’s cheering light.

                    Go, lay their little heads
                Close to that human heart, with love divine
                Deep-breathing, while his arms immortal twine
                    Around them, as he sheds,
                                        O night!
                On them a brother’s grace of God’s own boundless might.

                    Let them immortal wake
                Among the deathless flowers of Paradise,
                Where angel songs of welcome with surprise
                    This their last sleep may break,
                                        O night!
                And to celestial joy their kindred souls invite.

                    There can come no sorrow;
                The brow shall know no shade, the eye no tears,
                Forever young, through heaven’s eternal years
                    In one unfading morrow,
                                        O night!
                Nor sin nor age nor pain their cherub beauty blight.

                    Would we could sleep as they,
                So stainless and so calm,—at rest with Thee,—
                And only wake in immortality!
                    Bear us with them away,
                                        O night!
                To that ethereal, holier, happier height.