Poems (Blake)/At Eventide

by Mary Elizabeth Blake

For works with similar titles, see At Eventide.

AT EVENTIDE.

      The day is done.
Soft as a dream the sunset fades and dies,
And silent stars amid the dusky skies
      Shine one by one.

      The shadows wait,
And climbing upward over spire and towers,
Seem drawing softly this dull earth of ours
      To heaven's gate.

      We wait the night
With no vain thought of darkness or of dread,
But dreams of peace for weary heart and head,
      And slumbers light;

      We wait, nor fear
The few short hours of silence and of gloom,
Before the eastern skies shall blush with bloom,
      And morn be near.
······
      My God! my All!
When the dim hour draws near us, by Thy grace
To meet the white death angel face to face,
      And hear Thy call,—

      When life lies low,—
A gasping shadow by the altar-stair,
That leadeth up from darkness unaware
      To heaven's glow,—

      Thus let us wait;
In faith and trust, with prayer and blessing fond,
Still mindful of the morning light beyond,—
      Before the gate.

      Not sore distressed,—
But calmly folding life's dull garb away,
Lie down in peace to wait the coming day,
      And find our rest!