Poems (Blake)/On the Heights

by Mary Elizabeth Blake

ON THE HEIGHT

At evening, when the western sky
 Burns crimson with the setting sun,
When night's sweet calm is drawing n
   And day is done,—

While lingering shadows stoop to rest
 Where the dim valley slopes away,
And fold above its silent breast
   Their mantle gray,—

When down from pastures fair and sweet,
 Obedient to the herdsman's cry,
The lowing herds with patient feet
   Go slowly by,—

Still is the mountain top aflame
 With sunset banners all unfurled,
As one who lifts her heart's pure fame
   Above the world.

While far below in wavering mood
 The flickering shadows grope and fall,
It lifts its radiant solitude
   High over all.

———

As sometimes when with indrawn breath
 We see some well-belovèd face
Pass up the shadowy vale of death
   To God's dear grace,—

Through all the mists of soul and sense,
 The eye of faith, with outlook fond,
Can see far off the light intense
   On heights beyond,—

Serene amid the gathering gloom,
 And lit with radiance from above,
Where heaven's eternal glories bloom,
   And God's pure love.