The day dies slowly in the western sky, 

 The sunset splendor fades, and wan and cold 



The far peaks wait the sunrise; cheerily 



The goatherd calls his wanderers to their fold; 



My weary soul, that fain would cease to roam, 



Take comfort ; evening bringeth all things home. 



Homeward the swift-winged seagull takes its flight ; 



The ebbing tide breaks softly on the sand; 

 The red-sailed boats draw shoreward for the night ; 



The shadows deepen over sea and land; 

 Be still, my soul; thine hc'ir shall also come; 



Behold, one evening God shall lead thee home. 



LIVING AGE. 



Ah me, heart! thank God for the gloaming; and may there be a 

 gloaming somewhere in heaven for those who want it! 



