THE EVENING HYMN.

The rolling sun, the frowning cloud
That drew the lightning in its rear,
The thunder, tramping deep and loud,
Have left no footmark there.

The village bells, with silver chime,
Come softened by the distant shore;
Though I have heard them many a time,
They never rung so sweet before.
A silence rests upon the hill,

A listening awe pervades the air;
The very flowers are shut, and still,
And bowed as if in prayer.

And in this hushed and breathless close,
O'er earth, and air, and sky, and sea,
That still low voice in silence goes,

Which speaks alone, great God, of Thee.
The whispering leaves, the far-off brook,
The linnet's warble fainter grown,
The hive-bound bee, the lonely rook,-
All these their Maker own.

Now shine the starry hosts of light,
Gazing on earth with golden eyes;
Bright guardians of the blue-browed night,
What are ye in your native skies?
I know not! neither can I know,
Nor on what leader ye attend,

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Nor whence ye came, nor whither go, Nor what your aim, or end.

I know they must be holy things,
That from a room so sacred shine,
Where sounds the beat of angel-wings,
And footsteps echo all divine.
Their mysteries I never sought,

Nor hearkened to what science tells; For, oh! in childhood I was taught That God amidst them dwells.

The darkening woods, the fading trees, The grasshopper's last feeble sound, The flower just wakened by the breeze, All leave the stillness more profound. The twilight takes a deeper shade,

The dusky path-ways blacker grow, And silence reigns in glen and glade, All, all is mute below.

And other eves as sweet as this

Will close upon as calm a day, And, sinking down the deep abyss, Will, like the last, be swept away; Until Eternity is gained,

That boundless sea without a shore, That without Time for ever reigned, And will when Time 's no more.

EVENING SONG OF THE WEARY.

Now nature sinks in soft repose,

A living semblance of the grave; The dew steals noiseless on the rose, The boughs have almost ceased to wave; The silent sky, the sleeping earth,

Tree, mountain stream, the humble sod, All tell from whom they had their birth, And cry, "Behold a God!"

EVENING SONG OF THE WEARY.

MRS. HEMANS.

FATHER of Heaven and Earth!

I bless thee for the night,
The soft, still night!

The holy pause of care and mirth,
Of sound and light!

Now far in glade and dell,
Flower-cup, and bud, and bell

Have shut around the sleeping woodlark's nest;
The bee's long murmuring toils are done,
And I, the o'erwearied one,

O'erwearied and o'erwrought,

Bless thee, O God, O Father of the oppressed,

With my last waking thought,

In the still night!

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Yes, ere I sink to rest,

By the fire's dying light,

Thou Lord of Earth and Heaven!

I bless thee, who hast given Unto life's fainting travellers the night,The soft, still, holy night!

THE RISING MOON.

W. B. 0. PEABODY.

THE moon is up! how calm and slow
She wheels above the hill!

The weary winds forget to blow,

And all the world lies still.

The way-worn travellers with delight Her rising brightness see, Revealing all the paths and plains, And gilding every tree.

It glistens where the hurrying stream
Its little rippling heaves;

It falls upon the forest-shade,
And sparkles on the leaves.

THE LIGHT OF STARS.

So once on Judah's evening hills
The heavenly lustre spread;
The Gospel sounded from the blaze,
And shepherds gazed with dread.

And still that light upon the world
Its guiding splendor throws,
Bright in the opening hours of life,
And brighter at its close.

The waning moon in time shall fail
To walk the midnight skies;

But God hath kindled this bright light
With fire that never dies.

THE LIGHT OF STARS.

W. H. FURNESS.

SLOWLY, by God's hand unfurled,
Down around the weary world
Falls the darkness: O how still
Is the working of His will!

Mighty Spirit, ever nigh!
Work in me as silently;

Veil the day's distracting sights,
Show me heaven's eternal lights.

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