A Halloween Poem and a Prayer

WHEN the night wind howls

In the chimney cowls,

And the bat in the moonlight flies,

And the inky clouds,

Like funeral shrouds,

Sail over the midnight skies--

When the footpads quail

At the night-bird’s wail,

And black dogs bay at the moon,

Then is the spectre’s holiday--Then is the ghost’s high noon!

Ha! Ha!

Then is the ghost’s high noon!

As the sob of the breeze

Sweeps over the trees

And the mists lie low on the fen,

From grey tomb-stones

Are gathered the bones

That once were women and men,

And away they go,

With a mop and a mow,

To the revel that ends too soon,

For cock crow limits our holiday--The dead of the night’s high noon!

Ha! Ha!

The dead of the night’s high noon!

And then each ghost

With his ladye-toast

To their church yard beds take flight,

With a kiss, perhaps,

On her lantern chaps,

And a grisly grim, “good night!”

Till the welcome knell

Of the midnight bell

Rings forth its jolliest tune,

And ushers in our next high holiday--The dead of the night’s high noon!

Ha! Ha!

The dead of the night’s high noon!

WHEN THE NIGHT WIND HOWLS

by: W.S. Gilbert (1836-1911)

O Lord,

From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!

Amen.

RFSJ