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The Home Circle

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International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Aug 6, 1885

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 11, No. 30.

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The Home Circle.

AT EVENING.

Upon the hills the wind is sharp and cold, The sweet young grasses wither on the wold, And we, O Lord, have wandered from thy fold, But evening brings us home.
Among the mists we stumbled, and the rocks, Where the brown lichen whitens, and the fox Watches the straggler from the scattered flocks; But evening brings us home.
The sharp thorns prick us, and our tender feet Are out and bleeding, and the lambs repeat Their pitiful complaints—oh, rest is sweet, When evening brings us home!
We have been wounded by the hunter's darts, Our eyes are very heavy, and our hearts Search for thy coming—when the light departs, And evening brings us home.
The darkness gathers. Through the gloom no star Rises to guide us. We have wandered far. Without thy lamp we know not where we are. At evening bring us home.
The clouds are 'round us, and the snow-drifts thicken. O thou, dear Shepherd, leave us not to sicken In the waste of night—our tardy footsteps quicken. At evening bring us home.
—New York Tribune.