Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/187

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bird-song floated down the hill, The tangled bank below was still;

No rustle from the birchen stem, No ripple from the water’s hem.

The dusk of twilight round us grew, We felt the falling of the dew;

For, from us, ere the day was done, The wooded hills shut out the sun.

But on the river’s farther side We saw the hill-tops glorified,—

A tender glow, exceeding fair, A dream of day without its glare.

With us the damp, the chill, the gloom: With them the sunset’s rosy bloom;

While dark, through willowy vistas seen, The river rolled in shade between.

From out the darkness where we trod, We gazed upon those hills of God,

Whose light seemed not of moon or sun. We spake not, but our thought was one.

We paused, as if from that bright shore Beckoned our dear ones gone before;

And stilled our beating hearts to hear The voices lost to mortal ear!

Sudden our pathway turned from night; The hills swumg open to the light;

Through their green gates the sunshine showed, A long, slant splendor downward flowed.

Down glade and glen and bank it rolled; It bridged the shaded stream with gold;