 | Avenging the Maine |  |
55
THE EVENING.
The sun is sinking o'er the hills
And casting gold on earth;
The children in the harvest fields
Hail it with joy and mirth.
And casting gold on earth;
The children in the harvest fields
Hail it with joy and mirth.
So often through the glowing day
They gazed up with a frown,
And wondered in their little hearts
It would not hasten down.
They gazed up with a frown,
And wondered in their little hearts
It would not hasten down.
The master sees the fiery ball
Has hid its rays of light;
He gives the signal, as to say:
“Cease toiling for the night.”
Has hid its rays of light;
He gives the signal, as to say:
“Cease toiling for the night.”
The little children, tired and worn
From toiling all the day,
They hear the blessed evening bell—
Skip homeward on their way.
From toiling all the day,
They hear the blessed evening bell—
Skip homeward on their way.
| Avenging the Maine | |