“ When the Night and Morning Meet . “ In the dark and narrow street, Into a world of woe, Where the tread of many feet Went trampling to and fro, A child was born—speak low ! When the night and morning meet. “ Full seventy summers back Was this ; so long ago, The feet that wore the track Are lying straight and low,— Yet hath there been no lack Of passers to and fro. “ Within the narrow street This childhood ever played ; Beyond the narrow street This manhood never strayed ; This age sat still and prayed Anear the trampling feet. “ The tread of ceaseless feet Flowed through his life, unstirred By waters’ fall, or fleet Wind music, or the bird Of morn,—these sounds are sweet, But they were still unheard. “ Within the narrow street I stood beside a bed— I held a dying head When the night and morning meet ; And every word was sweet, Though few the words we said. “ And as we talked, dawn drew To day—the world was fair In fields afar, I knew ; Yet spoke not to him there Of how the grasses grew, Besprent with dew-drops rare. “ We spoke not of the sun, Nor of this green earth fair ; This soul, whose day was done, Had never claimed its share In these, and yet its rare Rich heritage had won. “ From the dark and narrow street Into a world of love A child was born,—speak low, Speak reverent, for we know Not how they speak above, When the night and morning meet.”