The beautiful moon tonight in her fullness,
Looks down on this world of ours.
Can she see with her orbs of infinite brightness
This land of forests and fruits and flowers.
Oh! the scenes of wide diversion,
Which methinks are hers to scan,
From the mountains to the' ocean,
All among the homes of men.
Never swerving in her duty,
On and on, her motto seems,
But, maybe, could we but tell it,
Tides are governed by her dreams.
On the fields of bloody battles,
In the fiercest of the fight,
She has looked with eyes of sorrow
At the awful sickening sight.
And on the waters wildly heaving,
Bearing ship-wrecked mortals down,
She has gazed with pitying glances,
As on her brow she wore a frown.
On the streets of the great cities,
At the revelry by night,
She has hid her eyes in shadow,
Sharing yet ,with them her light.
In the little country places,
Where the children love to roam,
She has lingered at their bidding,
Long enough to see them home.
In the homes of peace and plenty,
Where health and happiness abound,
She has looked and lent her blessing,
Shed her beams in beauty 'round.
In the homes of humble toilers,
Just as in the mansion grand;
She can see and knows the doings,
Everywhere in this broad land.
Out among the fruitless regions,
Where no people try to live,
She looks down in all her brightness,
Light to such she freely gives.
Often-times I sit and wonder
At her beauty, and the sight
Of the moon in all her splendor
Seems to make the world more bright.
How little of this world in general
Will each one of us behold
As compared with the bright moon,
Sights of which she never told.