By C.B. Langston
From whence the rapture which I feel
Through all my nature rushing?
The heart’s quick beat? the senses reel?
The cheeks’ enkindled blushing?
Like the bright glowing of the east,
When morn appears, hope gilds my breast.
Where is the cloud whose threat’ning gloom
Cast its deep shadow o’er me?
Masking the sunshine of my home?
Dark’ning the path before me?
The trembling tongue, the anxious fear?
The rending sigh–the bursting tear?
I knelt–my prayer was still and brief,
Like burning lava glowing;
The fiery current of my grief,
A silent fountain flowing;
Parched were my quiv’ring lips, and cleft–
“Thy will be done,” I thought, and wept!
Hope! gentle hope! then from my heart
Rose quickly heav’nward springing;
Like a fair bird with wings apart,
Amid the tempest singing;
Soft o’er my mind its music stole,
And soothed the anguish of my soul!