Eventide
The
day
is
past
and
the
toilers
cease;
The
land
grows
dim
'mid
the
shadows
grey,
And
hearts
are
glad,
for
the
dark
brings
peace
At
the
close
of
day.
Each
weary
toiler,
with
lingering
pace,
As
he
homeward
turns,
with
the
long
day
done,
Looks
out
to
the
west,
with
the
light
on
his
face
Of
the
setting
sun.
Yet
some
see
not
(with
their
sin-dimmed
eyes)
The
promise
of
rest
in
the
fading
light;
But
the
clouds
loom
dark
in
the
angry
skies
At
the
fall
of
night.
And
some
see
only
a
golden
sky
Where
the
elms
their
welcoming
arms
stretch
wide
To
the
calling
rooks,
as
they
homeward
fly
At
the
eventide.
It
speaks
of
peace
that
comes
after
strife,
Of
the
rest
He
sends
to
the
hearts
He
tried,
Of
the
calm
that
follows
the
stormiest
life
—
God's
eventide.
