THOUGHTS AT THE CLOSE OF DAY.
By M. A. Holt
How blest the evening’s peaceful calm,
When weary tasks are o’er,
When throbbing head and fevered pulse,
May drop the workman’s oar. When children’s noisy mirth is hushed,
And jarring sounds are still,
We may recline with thankful hearts,
To read or dream at will. How blest the night’s refreshing sleep,
Which tunes the weary brain
With health and vigor to renew
The self-same task again. The self-same task—yet not the same,
For every moment brings
Us nearer to the trial hour
Of grave and sterner things. How blest the hope which looks beyond
The eager, yawning grave,
To yon sweet clime which never feels
A breath from death’s cold wave. How blest the love which giveth light
Along our slippery way,
When foes without and foes within
Would lead our feet astray. How blest the rest faith sees afar,
In yonder kingdom fair,
That happy place of love and bloom,
Where Christ and angels are. Where life’s enduring tree is set,
Where balm and cordial meet,
And life’s pure river, sparkling free,
Runs through the golden street. For these, thank God, my heart is glad,
For all his mercies given,
His care along my rugged way,
And promised rest in Heaven.