THE day is done; the weary day of thought And the phantom feet of the shadows glide and toil is past, Soft falls the twilight cool and gray on the tire earth at last : By wisest teachers wearied, by gentlest friends oppressed, In Thee alone, the soul, outworn, refreshment finds, and rest. Bend, Gracious Spirit, from above, like these o'erarching skies, And to thy firmament of love lift up these longing eyes; And, folded by thy sheltering hand, in refuge still and deep, Let blessed thoughts from thee descend, as drop the dews of sleep. And when refreshed the soul once more puts on new life and power; Oh, let thine image, Lord, alone, gild the first waking hour! Let that dear Presence dawn and glow, fairer than morn's first ray, And thy pure radiance overflow the splendor of the day. To the maple tops and the river's tide. Not even the thought of a sound is heard, Is the music poured from that tiny throat, Nor care I to find, by a thoughtful quest, The singer was less to my heart to-night Than the song he dropped through the parting light. Its overflow of a joy intense Came unto me like a recompense For the undertone of an aching care, I thought beside the water's flow What matter now for promise lost, EVENING. FATHER, by thy love and power Saviour, to thy Father bear Meet thy spirit-piercing view. Holy Spirit, breath of balm, Breathing humble confidence; Melt our spirits, mould our will, Soften, strengthen, comfort still. Blessed Trinity, be near Through the hours of darkness drear; What if the grape be blighted? Thine 1836. Thou lovest still the poor; oh, blest In poverty beloved to be! Less lowly is my choice confessed, JOSEPH ANSTICE. I love the rich in loving thee! My spirit bare before thee stands, The surer to be filled from thine! DORA GREenwell. EVENSONG. "Sol præceps rapitur." THE sun is sinking fast, Her evening sacrifice. |