Eventide.

—Thomas Burbidge.

COMES something down with eventide,
Beside the sunset’s golden bars,
Beside the floating scents, beside
The twinkling shadows of the stars.

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Sabbath Evening.

—Frederic Mellen.

LIST! there is music in the air:
It is the sabbath evening bell,
Chiming the vesper hour of prayer,
O’er the mountain top and lowland dell.
And infancy and age are seen,
Slow winding o’er the church-yard green.

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Day is Dying in the West.

—Mary Artemisia Lathbury.

Evening Praise.

DAY is dying in the west;
Heaven is touching earth with rest:
Wait and worship while the night
Sets her evening lamps alight
Through all the sky

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Evening Song.

—Thomas Miller.

 

HOW many days with mute adieu

Have gone down yon untrodden sky!

And still it looks as clear and blue

As when it first was hung on high.

The rolling sun, the frowning cloud,

That drew the lightning in its rear,

The thunder, tramping deep and loud,

Have left no footmark there.

 

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Vesper Hymn.

—Samuel Longfellow.

 

NOW, on sea and land descending,

Brings the night its peace profound:

Let our vesper hymn be blending

With the holy calm around.

Soon as dies the sunset glory,

Stars of heaven shine out above,

Telling still the ancient story,—

Their Creator’s changeless love.

 

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Nightfall.

—Alexander Posey.

AS evening splendors fade

From yonder sky afar,

The Night pins on her dark

Robe with a large bright star,

And the new moon hangs like

A high-thrown scimitar.

Vague in the mystic room

This side the paling west,

The Tulledegas* loom

In an eternal rest,

And one by one the lamps are lit

In the dome of the Infinite.

 

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A Song for Morning or Evening.

—Isaac Watts.

‘They are new every morning.’ —Lamentations 3:23.

MY God, how endless is thy love!

Thy gifts are every evening new;

And morning mercies, from above,

Gently distil like early dew.

 

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Sabbath Evening.

—George Denison Prentice.

HOW calmly sinks the parting sun!

Yet twilight lingers still;

And beautiful as dream of heaven

It slumbers on the hill;

Earth sleeps, with all her glorious things,

Beneath the Holy Spirit’s wings,

And, rendering back the hues above,

Seems resting in a trance of love.

 

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Lasell Vespers.

—Henry C. Graves.

SONGS of evening, vespers chiming,

Blend in harmonies of peace;

Upward towards the skies are climbing,

Melodies, when earth tones cease.

Sun in arching course declining,

Star of coming night appear;

Heaven to thee our souls resigning,

With thy Sun and Star be near.

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