A Truant Hour. Poem by Henry Alford

The golden stars keep watch aloft;
Unmarked the moments glide along,
Save that around me scatters oft
Yon nightingale his pearls of song:--

The hum of men, the roar of wheels,
That filled the streets erewhile, are gone;
The inner consciousness but feels
The lordly river rolling on.

The course of thoughts and being, pent
As waters ere they plunge below,
Reflects a downward firmament
Of life and things, in gleamy show.

Thus rest, so hushed with airs of balm
That reach them from their promise--land,
The righteous souls, in stillest calm
Laid up in their Redeemer's hand.

All that has been, and all that is,
Back from their thoughts in light is given,
Deep firmaments of inward bliss
Far glittering into distant Heaven.

The while, side--heard as in a dream,
The ages strike their solemn chime;
And from the ancient hills, the stream
Rolls onward of predestined Time.