and toil is past,

Soft falls the twilight cool and gray on the tire earth at last :

By wisest teachers wearied, by gentlest friends oppressed,

In Thee alone, the soul, outworn, refreshment finds, and rest.

Bend, Gracious Spirit, from above, like these o'erarching skies,

And to thy firmament of love lift up these longing eyes;

And, folded by thy sheltering hand, in refuge still and deep,

Let blessed thoughts from thee descend, as drop the dews of sleep.

And when refreshed the soul once more puts on new life and power;

Oh, let thine image, Lord, alone, gild the first waking hour!

Let that dear Presence dawn and glow, fairer than morn's first ray,

And thy pure radiance overflow the splendor of the day.

To the maple tops and the river's tide.

Not even the thought of a sound is heard,
Till the dusk is thrilled by a hidden bird
That suddenly sings, as the light grows dim,
Its wonderful passionate vesper hymn.
Sweet as the voice of an angel's call,
Sent to me from the jasper wall,

Is the music poured from that tiny throat,
A message of comfort in every note.
I know not where in the leafy tree
The dear little warbler's home may be;

Nor care I to find, by a thoughtful quest,
Its cunningly woven castled nest.

The singer was less to my heart to-night Than the song he dropped through the parting light.

Its overflow of a joy intense

Came unto me like a recompense

For the undertone of an aching care,
That was near to making my soul despair.

I thought beside the water's flow
Awhile to lie beneath the leaves,
I thought in autumn's harvest glow
To rest my head upon the sheaves;
But, lo! methinks the day was brief
And cloudy; flower, nor fruit, nor leaf
I bring, and yet, accepted, free,
And blest, my Lord, I come to thee.

What matter now for promise lost,
Through blast of spring or summer rains!
What matter now for purpose crost,
For broken hopes and wasted pains;
What if the olive little yields,

EVENING.

FATHER, by thy love and power
Comes again the evening hour;
Light has vanished, labors cease,
Weary creatures rest in peace:
Thou whose genial dews distil
On the lowliest weed that grows,
Father, guard our couch from ill,
Lull thy children to repose.
We to thee ourselves resign;
Let our latest thoughts be thine.

Saviour, to thy Father bear
This our feeble evening prayer;
Thou hast seen how oft to-day
We, like sheep, have gone astray;
Worldly thoughts and thoughts of pride,
Wishes to thy cross untrue,
Secret faults and undescried,

Meet thy spirit-piercing view.
Blessed Saviour, yet, through thee,
Pray that we may pardoned be.

Holy Spirit, breath of balm,
Fall on us in evening's calm;
Yet awhile, before we sleep,
We with thee will vigil keep.
Lead us on our sins to muse;
Give us truest penitence;
Then the love of God infuse,

Breathing humble confidence; Melt our spirits, mould our will, Soften, strengthen, comfort still.

Blessed Trinity, be near

Through the hours of darkness drear;
When the help of man is far,
Ye more clearly present are.
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Watch o'er our defenceless head;
Let your angels' guardian host
Keep all evil from our bed,
Till the flood of morning rays
Wake us to a song of praise.

What if the grape be blighted? Thine
The corn upon a thousand fields,
Upon a thousand hills the vine.

1836.

Thou lovest still the poor; oh, blest In poverty beloved to be!

Less lowly is my choice confessed,

JOSEPH ANSTICE.

I love the rich in loving thee!

My spirit bare before thee stands,
I bring no gift, I ask no sign,
I come to thee with empty hands,

The surer to be filled from thine!

DORA GREenwell.

EVENSONG.

"Sol præceps rapitur."

THE sun is sinking fast,
The daylight dies;
Let love awake, and pay

Her evening sacrifice.