Two Pictures

by Rose Hartwick Thorpe

Sunset.

A ball of fire suspended
Low o'er a molten sea;
Infinite glory blended,
Lost in eternity.
A vivid crimson paling
With pencilings of gold;
A white cloud outward sailing,
Foam billows fold on fold.
A quivering, throbbing rapture,
Red torches flaming high;
A thousand waves that capture
Pale rose-tints from the sky;
A lesser glory, blending
With blue more faintly blue,
A rosy light ascending
To pierce all distance through.
Commingling tints grown fainter,
A dim fire, burning low, --
Ah, never skill of painter
Can mix the colors so!
A mellowed beauty lingers,
A curtain pearly gray
Is drawn by unseen fingers
Across the face of Day.

Gone the resplendent wonder, --
God's glory passed away,
We stand the gray sky under
Beside a sea of gray,
And sigh because life's story,
Like sunset's fleeting kiss,
Tells tales of transient glory,
Lost rapture, vanished bliss.

Sunrise.

Silence profound, then faintly
Low throbbings in the air;
A presence holy, saintly,
Hushed voices breathing prayer,
A wavering light uncertain,
A soft glow, spreading wide;
A dusky, sombre curtain
Drawn suddenly aside;
Pale rays of rare completeness
Far down the sky's dim lawn,
Moist lips of rosy sweetness
Upraised to kiss the dawn;
A wondrous burst of rapture
From bird-throats swelling long,
Which echo elves recapture
And flood the earth with song.

A richer color showing,
A flush across the gray,
A deeper carmine glowing,
Night shadows rolled away;
A gleam of polished silver,
A glow of burnished gold,
A liquid mass of splendor,
A glory manifold;
A royal car suspended,
Hung swaying in the blue,
The grand cor'nation 's ended
And rose-tints fade from view.

O, human heart grown tender
With thought beyond all speech!
This sunrise scene of splendor
No human art can reach
Revives hope's blessed story,
Bids faith ascend on high,
And view eternal glory
Where rose-tints never die.