At the Set of Sun

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Tacoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Apr 11, 1907

At the Set of Sun

At the set of the sun, When our work is done, With all its tangled web; When the clouds drift low, And the stream runs slow, And life is at its ebb;

As we near the goal When the golden ’bowl Shall be broken at its fount; With what sweetest thought Shall the hour be fraught, What precious most shall we count?

Not the flame of the sword, Nor the wealth we have stored In perishable things on earth; Not the way we have trod With the intellect broad, Though that were of precious worth;

Nor the gain we achieved Through the hearts we have grieved, And left unhelped by the way; Nor the laurel of fame, When, for worldly acclaim, We toiled in the heat and the fray.

Ah, no! ’tis not these Will give our hearts ease, When life sinks low in the west, But the passing sweet thought Of the good we have wrought, The saddened lives we have blessed.

— Boston Transcript.