Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/A Moon-Light Scene

by Lydia Sigourney

A MOON-LIGHT SCENE.

THE evening blast is wild and loud,
    Like winds of winter bleak,
And slowly through a wat'ry cloud.
    The pale moon lifts her cheek.

Perhaps upon the troubled wave
    Of life's tempestuous sea,
Some pensive mourner veils her brow,
    As sad and mournfully.

While round the adverse tempests fly,
    And clouds of sorrow roll,
And no kind voice is heard to sigh,
    In mercy to the soul.

But where the bending concave seems
    To meet the mountain fair,
I see a bright, unclouded sky,
    And moon-beams quiver there.

And tho' the virtuous soul may sink,
    With clouds and storms opprest,
It finds at last a peaceful cell,
    Where all the weary rest.

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