The Peak of the Cameroons, II

And I have seen thee in the West's red setting Stand like some Monarch in a crimson field, With fleeing clouds empurpling as they yield. And sunset still the glorious sham abetting. While high above thy purple forest's fretting Thy mighty chest in tranquil gold concealed, And on thy brows of the dead days begetting A light that comes from higher things revealed.

So shows there in a passing soul's transgression A light of hope beyond these prison bars Divinely rendered, that, when doubting mars Our day's decline, we still may find progression Of light to light, as day with silent cession Makes o'er to night—articulate with stars.