Littell's Living Age/Volume 137/Issue 1765/Homeward

by H. M.

HOMEWARD.

"There remaineth a rest."

[The following poem, which was published in No. 1750
⁠of The Living Age, is reprinted by request, together
⁠with a Spanish translation of the same, which
⁠appeared in the Boston Advertiser. Ed.]

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 hour shall also come;
⁠Behold, one evening God shall lead thee home.

H. M.