There is an awful quiet in the air

There is an awful quiet in the air,
And the sad earth, with moist imploring eye,
Looks wide and wakeful at the pondering sky,
Like Patience slow subsiding to Despair.
But see, the blue smoke as a voiceless prayer,
Sole witness of a secret sacrifice,
Unfolds its tardy wreaths, and multiplies
Its soft chameleon breathings in the rare
Capacious ether, —so it fades away.
And nought is seen beneath the pendant blue,
The undistinguishable waste of day.
So have I dream’d! —oh, may the dream be true!
That praying souls are purged from mortal hue,
And grow as pure as He to whom they pray.