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Household Verses

By Bernard Barton
  
  

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SUNSET.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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 VIII. 
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132

SUNSET.

It is the quiet sunset hour!
And in the glowing west
The orb of day with softened power
Is sinking to his rest:
The rippling stream
Reflects his beam
As mirrored from the sky;
While through the trees
The evening breeze
Murmurs its softest sigh.

133

And, lovely as the scene around
In each accordant part,
Its soothing quietude profound
Sinks down upon the heart.
As evening dews
The flowrets' hues
And fragrance keep alive,
So in the soul
This hour's control
Bids heaven-born peace revive.
How beautiful in light and shade
Those overarching trees!
The shepherd swain beneath them laid
Securely and at ease;
His fleecy charge,
That roam at large
Or ruminate at will,
With him partake,
By yon still lake,
Of quiet joy their fill.

134

How brightly on the lake's broad breast
The hues of evening glow;
More richly still their splendours rest
On that far mountain's brow;
The vaulted sky
Displays on high
The roseate tints of even,
And earth the while
Repays each smile
Of beauty caught from heaven.
Morn's splendours, vanishing too soon,
Might more appeal to sense;
Or the unclouded blaze of noon
Boast glory more intense:
To this calm hour
A holier power,
An influence more sublime,
Is given to bless
With tenderness
Its fleeting span of time.

135

'Tis somewhat, in a world like this,
Of toil, and care, and strife,
Moments to know whose purer bliss
Relumes our inward life;
Given to the soul
To point its goal
In brighter realms above,
And bid it feel
The mute appeal
Of faith, and hope, and love.
By day the world's tired denizen,
From habit, choice, or need,
Finds all that is around him then
A worldly spirit feed!
To gather wealth
He spends his health
Of body and of mind;
Or Poverty,
With evil eye,
To all but self is blind!

136

By day the thousand lures that cheat
Our spirits by their thrall,
Their semblances so counterfeit,
They seem not cheats at all!
Then Pleasure's wile
Puts on the smile
Of joy that must endure!
Ambition's schemes,
Fame's proudest dreams,
Seem lofty, noble, pure!
The sunset hour! the sunset hour!
In lone and thoughtful mood,
Breaks of such witching spells the power,
And makes them understood:
Would hearts but learn,
And eyes discern
The lessons it may teach,
Its quietness
Might truth impress,
And sober wisdom preach.

137

Who, thus instructed, e'er could view
The landscape—and forget
That soon or late, as surely too,
Life's sun to him must set!
In weal, or woe,
He too must know,
With glory, or with gloom,
'Mid calm, or strife,
The sun of life
Sink down into the tomb!
Whether that hour of import high
Be one to hope, or dread;
Whether with this its splendour vie,
Or clouds be round it spread;
Must on the use,
Or the abuse,
Of God's own gifts depend;
Boons all bestowed
To guide our road
Unto a glorious end!

138

“At eventide there shall be light!”
'Tis God's own gracious word;
But whose shall be its influence bright,
However long deferred?
Not their's its ray
Who in their day
Have 'gainst the light rebelled;
And through their race
Each gift of grace
Have slighted, quenched, or quelled.
At eventide there shall be light
To all whose hope and love
Lead them by faith, and not by sight,
To follow Christ above!
Who here have borne
His cross of scorn,
And known His saving grace
Its power impart
To make the heart
His Spirit's dwelling-place.