NIGHT.

NIGHT.
570.3

WITHIN the shelter of thy calm, Night,
I loose the tinselled vestures of the day,
With eager hands unbind and fling away
The cap and bells that made the crowd’s delight,
The shallow mask that screened me from their sight.
Deep In thy healing silences I lay
My bruised and fettered soul, that doth but pray
To be encompassed by the Infinite.

R ECEIVE my tears, O Night, and with thy space-
Thy unimpassioned vastness, cover me,
O make me know my natural, lowly place,
Become a child once more, obedient, free,
Until, forgetting self, I find the mood
Ot large things, wrapped in thy magnitude.
-HELEN A. SAXON.