THE LAMPLIGHTER

When the light of day declines,

And a swift angel through the sky

Kindles God's tapers clear,

With ashen staff the lamplighter

Passes along the darkling streets

To light our earthly lamps;

Lest, prowling in the darkness,

The thief should haunt with quiet tread,

Or men on evil errands set;

Or wayfarers be benighted;

Or neighbors, bent from house to house,

Should need a guiding torch.

He is like a needlewoman

Who deftly on a sable hem

Stitches in gleaming jewels;

Or, haply, he is like a hero,

Whose bright deeds on the long journey

Are beacons on our way.

And when in the East comes morning,

And the broad splendour of the sun,

Then, with the tune of little birds

Rings on high, the lamplighter

Passes by each quiet house,

And he puts out the lamps.