Three O’Clock in the Morning.

There is a time of morning1
When the jubilant, new-born day2
And the opal tints of approaching dawn.3
As yet seem far away.4
In the eastern sky is movement,5
No glow, but impending change.6
The house is filled with echoes,7
Familiar rooms look strange.8
Slip back the bolts and leave them,9
Steal out beneath the sky,10
Stand alone in an unknown world11
Of awful purity.12
Stand alone with folded hands,13
Wait for the gift of wings ;14
Wait to be lifted higher,15
Nearer the heart of things !16
The heavens are clear and moonlit,17
Though the moon is on the wane ;18
The wind, that wailed throughout the night,19
Drops with a sigh of pain.20
A vague alarm is creeping21
Over the fields and lawn ;22
Time pauses—night is over,23
And yet it is not dawn.24
Away down in the pastures25
The cattle turn and moan ;26
All living things are troubled27
With a sense of the unknown :28
For they with eyes may see now,29
And they who question know.30
Make the most of the magic hour :31
The east begins to glow !32


The east is all in tumult,33
The charmed hour is past ;34
For, breaking up the quiet skies,35
The day appears at last.36