Autumn: Monday Evening Poem by John Bowring

O God! Thy kingdom is a mansion bright,
Where peace and joy and truth and love and light
Mingle harmoniously; while like a sun
Thine eye of holiness looks sweetly down.
There the heart rests 'midst sacred visions, beaming
From yon side death,-whence tides of splendour streaming,
Bear from heaven's throne-heaven's glowing golden seat,
An effluence of glory infinite;
Covering the earth with hope and blessedness,
And wiping the wet eyelids of distress;
Guiding the blind, encouraging the weak,
And teaching even infant tongues to speak
In accents of devotion;-those who fall
Upraising, lighting, leading, blessing all.


In the soft stillness of obscurity,
The hour of calm, the hour of ecstasy,
In hope, in memory, in the thoughts that rise
Beyond the clouded mansions of the skies,
In all on earth that's heavenly-all above-
Temp'ring with earthly memories, earthly love-
Where'er there's joy, Thy shadow'd Presence is,
And the whole universe is full of bliss;
For earth is link'd to heaven-and all we see
And suffer, ripens to felicity.


There is a Spirit o'er creation spread,
Tho' darkness draw its curtains round our head,
And sorrow's streams flow at our mortal feet,-
There is a Spirit, sanctified and sweet,
That breathes of other scenes and holier things,
Broods o'er the earth with healing on its wings,
And is an angel-messenger from heaven:
There is a Spirit to our spirits given,
Which holds communion with our nobler part,
That sheds a hallow'd influence on our heart;
Gives pinions to our thoughts, and to our prayers,
And harmonizes all our doubts and cares
To meek submission-an Intelligence
That gladdens with its living influence
All space, all time,-and trains our earthly eye
To bear the blaze of immortality.


As in the silence of a cloudless night
The gentle moon disperses her soft light
Thro' the low murmuring trees, which evening's gale
Plays on in sportiveness 'midst shadows pale,
And the earth sleeps beneath the sway serene
Of midnight's chaste and glory-circled queen;
So, in the calm of holiness, the soul
Reposes 'neath religion's blest control,
Lighted with radiance from a higher sphere:
Nor shall that radiance e'er desert us here,
Till all our earthly labours shall be done,
And we be gather'd homeward one by one.