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HOME AT EVENING TIME

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Nov 30, 1904

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 47.

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HOME AT EVENING TIME

By James B. Kenyon

Up through the purple gloaming floats the tinkling of her bell: She's crossing now the brook that gurgles down yon grassy dell: For wherese'er mid woodlands dim or meadows she may roam, At milking time with lowings soft the evening brings her home.
Where huddled sheep by pasture bars lift many a plaintive bleat, Along the leaf-embowered lanes, with tinklings of bare feet, Mid daisies gleaming on the sward like glimmering flecks of foam, The children all come trooping back, for evening brings them home
Ah, when for me the day is done, and falls the twilight's hush, And from each sapphire peak dissolves the sunset's lingering flush— When one by one the slow stars kindle in night's shadowy dome, Then from my life's long wanderings may evening bring me home.
—James B. Kenyon.