‘Morning Glory’ and ‘Empress of the Night’ by Martin Rizley

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Morning Glory

The morning mist at last has dissipated.
The noonday sun is climbing to its height
In cloudless skies of blue, where larks, elated,
Fly round the day’s bright beaming crown of light.

All earthbound creatures bow beneath the rays
The sovereign sun on one and all bestows,
While every wingéd creature sings its praise
In far-flung realms unknown to those below.

Beyond those realms, in higher courts divine,
Above that antechamber in the sky,
Sits One whose beams of glory far outshine
All lesser lights that men would deify.

Since all fetch light from this Immortal Fire
Let His light spark our heart’s supreme desire.

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Empress of the Night

When God by His command created light,
He might have banished darkness from the world,
His bright beams chasing every shade in sight
Off this world’s edge, into oblivion hurled.

Instead, God chose to make a space of hours
In which the darkness finds room every day
To tend His garden, shielding weary flowers
From searing heat which saps their life away.

He dubbed the darkness “Empress of the Night,”
And gave her power to make His garden grow,
With special gifts, like dewdrops that alight
On thirsty petals, freshness to bestow.

He gave the darkness soporific charms
To sweetly lull all drowsy heads to sleep,
And hold them fast within her tender arms,
In silent safety through the hours that creep.

He gave her magic!—germinating grace
To waken seeds and stir them to give birth
To green plants, which grow roots that hold in place
Each budding stem that springs up from the earth.

He made this empress sister to the light,
Who rules the day and ventures forth each dawn
To seize with boldness what is hers by right,
To splash with color every leaf and lawn.

Light’s sister follows shyly from behind,
While light paints all the world with brilliant beams
Until her strength is spent and she’s inclined
To seek a place of rest and pleasant dreams.

Then gently, darkness takes her sister’s hand
And leads her west, in evening’s glow to steep,
And lays her down on sunset’s rosy strand
And lulls her with a quiet song to sleep.

Her voice then vibrates with the cricket’s trill
And whispers softly with the gentle breezes.
And croons the sad cry of the whippoorwill
And echoes every evening sound that pleases.

She lets her robe fall, then, as in a trance
She moves, her black skin lit by moonlight’s glow;
Then with exquisite grace, she starts to dance
With all the earth a rapt adagio.

She lifts a glowing candle flame on high,
Then slowly draws it downward to her side,
In one long arching movement through the sky
To sink within the trees and ocean tide.

Then rising on her toes in statuesque
Composure with her arms above her head,
She bends, she leaps, then does an arabesque
With head raised high, her leg and arms outspread.

She spins—the wind blows with her pirouette;
She springs, and gusts make restless treetops toss.
Her dance, so lovely, every move well set,
Is nighttime’s treasure, daytime dwellers’ loss.

At last, the thrilling spectacle must end,
As darkness’ sister slowly starts to rise
From her refreshing beauty sleep, to spend
Another day enlightening the skies.

Descending slowly, like a dying swan
Into a heap, night’s empress then gives way
To her fair sister in the misty dawn,
That life through death might come at break of day!

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Martin Rizley grew up in Oklahoma and in Texas, and has served in pastoral ministry both in the United States and in Europe. He is currently serving as the pastor of a small evangelical church in the city of Málaga on the southern coast of Spain, where he lives with his wife and daughter. Martin has enjoyed writing and reading poetry as a hobby since his early youth.