“EVENTIDE.”


‘Tis eventide, and down the darkening dells
The last few sunbeams linger ere they die:
Far, far away there sounds a night-bird’s cry,
And faintly comes a chime of vesper bells.


Down in the west the sunset radiance swells,
Up to the billowed vapour rolling high,
Flooding with light the fading arch of sky,
And flushing glory to the farthest fells.
Ah! Day, upon thy death-bed lying still,
Thy conqueror, Darkness, spreads his shadows far,
And Twilight, passing o’er the distant hill,
Holds in her hand the glowing evening star—
Herald of silent Night, who once again,
In the vast sky resumes her lonely reign.
—Written for the Young People’s Corner by Marjorie Pickthall