Linnets with unnumbered notes, And the cuckoo-bird with two, Bid the setting sun adieu. J. W. CUNNINGHAM. EVENING IN AUTUMN. T was an eve of Autumn's holiest mood; Its Maker: now and then the aged leaf POLLOK. EVENING IN AUTUMN. RANQUIL and clear the Autumnal day declined; The barks at anchor cast their lengthened shades On the grey bastioned walls; airs from the deep Wandered and touched the cordage as they passed, Then hovered with expiring breath, and stirred Scarce the quiescent pennant; the bright sea Lay silent in its glorious amplitude, Without; far up in the pale atmosphere, A white cloud, here and there, hung overhead, The gulls and guilemots, with short, quaint cry, A voice amidst the hushed and listening world So sweet would last for ever, whilst they flocked BOWLES. AN EVENING SERVICE. HE cold wind strips the yellow leaf, The songs have ceased,—and busy men Oh, in an hour so still as this, From care, and toil, and tumult stealing, I'll consecrate an hour to bliss To meek devotion's holy feeling; And rise to thee-to thee, whose hand Being, whose all-pervading might Thou, Ruler of our destiny! With million gifts thou hast supplied us, Hidden from our view futurity, Unveiling all the past to guide us. Though dark may be earth's vale and damp, Gladdens and gilds our path before us. And in the silence of the scene Sweet tones from heaven are softly speaking Celestial music breathes between, The slumbering soul of bliss awaking. Short is the darkest night, whose shade Wraps nature's breast in clouds of sadness; And joy's sweet flowers, that seem to fade, Shall bloom anew in kindling gladness. Death's darkness is more bright to him The silent tear, the deep-fetched sigh, Smiles from a conscience purified, This joy be ours-our weeks shall roll- BOWRING. EVENING IN JUDEA. "To show forth thy loving-kindness in the morning, and thy faithfulness every night."-PSALM Xcii. 2. HE sun is set-and yet his light Is lingering in the crimson sky, Of holy men that die. O'er Tabor's hill, o'er Baca's dale, The shades of evening softly creep— To wrap her infant's sleep. The dews fall gently on the flower, Their freshening influence to impart— As pity's tears of soothing power Revive the drooping heart. The twilight star from Hermon's peak Comes mildly o'er the glistening earth; Their dear domestic hearth. Who sends the sun to ocean's bed? Who brings the night-shade from the west ? Who bids the balmy dews be shed? Even He who, at the season due, Sends forth the sun's returning light, KNOX. MORNING AND EVENING. SOW beautiful is Morn! When day-light, newly born, From the bright portals of the east is breaking, While songs of joy resound From countless warblers round, To light and life from silent slumber waking. The parting clouds unfold Their edges tinged with gold; Touched by the rustling breeze, Are bright and tuneful as the muse's fountain. As upward mounts the sun, The valleys, one by one, Ope their recesses to the living splendour; Heaves upward to be blest, And bids its waves reflected light surrender. Each humble flower lifts up Its dewy bell or cup, Smiling through tears that know no tinge of sadness; The insect tribes come out, And, fluttering all about, Fill the fresh air with gentle sounds of gladness. |