THE glories of the golden dawn, the splendors of noonday, the fading light of evening, and the holy calm of twilight, have awakened the melodies of many a sweet lyre; but dearer to me is the strain of that poet whose ear has caught the sweet yet solemn voices of the night. True it is, that "day unto day uttereth speech"--its language, from the moment of its glad birth to its calm decline, is praise most eloquent to Him who scatters the cheering beams over all lands, bidding Earth and all her tribes rejoice in his radiant smile; but it is not less so, that "night unto night showeth knowledge:" and may my ear and my heart ever be open to its solemn voices! And even now 'tis night--solemn night--the broad eye of day has closed, and all its joyous sights and sounds have departed; a majestic gloom broods over all things; Night has wrapped in her oblivious mantle the golden glories of day's bright ruler, and naught breaks the fearful contrast save the twinkling of some far-off star, whose feeble rays remind us that light has been.

      And yet the Night is not wholly unlovely or unloved; for, when the day is past, Meditation delights to pursue her task beneath her shadowing wing. When are the woods more solemn than when darkness broods over the thick foliage, and the night winds, in fitful gusts, sway the outspreading branches of the forest-trees?

      It is such a time as this that suits the spirit that has drunk deeply of the cup of sorrow; and those gloomy sights are dearer than light to the eyes, and those solemn sounds are sweeter than music to the ears of those who have been satiated with the fulsome and unmeaning adulation of a false world; for the mind finds in the forest's gloom and the night-wind's sigh something in unison with the somber thoughts that are dwelling within.

      The thoughts, too, at such a season are not drawn aside by the multitude of objects which bright day presents; but the mind is turned in upon itself--its own acts are the objects of scrutiny, the emotions which lurk deep in the recesses of the soul are brought under strict review, passion is cooled, reason triumphs, and thought, for the moment, is supreme.

      Night is the time for self-examination. The acts of the day then present themselves before the mind for judgment; conscience stamps its approval or condemnation on every action, and by its impartial voice we are taught to improve the future by the follies and errors of the past. Night is the time for devotion. The solemn sky with its gleaming fires, and the awful silence which prevails, press holy feelings on the soul-feelings which prompt man to bow and humbly worship; for at such a season the world is shut out, and man, cut off from the throng of his followers, stands alone with God. How important, then, that sin should be confessed, pardon sought, and conscience cleansed ere sleep be invited!

      Night is the time for music soft strain. Its notes breaking upon the stillness which reigns around seem like the voices of far-off angels, and every pulsation of the heart is in unison with their song. The mind, too, then, is better suited to the reception of holy impressions; and oft, at such seasons, we seem borne away from earth, and to stand, with the heavenly harpers, near the eternal throne.

      Let us, then, ever improve its pensive gloom and its solemn silence--let music swell, let prayer arise, let thought be free to range through the vast empire assigned by the Creator, and we shall have abundant reason to thank God for the night.

[The Ladies' Repository 14 (February 1854): 71.]

      William Baxter's "Night" was first published in The Ladies' Repository: A Monthly Periodical Devoted to Literature and Religion, Vol. 14, No. 2, February 1854, p. 71. This volume, edited by D. W. Clark, was published in Cincinnati by L. Swormstedt and A. Poe and in New York by T. Carlton and Z. Phillips.

      Addenda and corrigenda are earnestly solicited.

Ernie Stefanik
Derry, PA

Created 17 April 2000.
Updated 28 June 2003.