A SONG OF REST.

O weary Hands! that, all the day,

Were set to labour hard and long,

Now softly fall the shadows gray,

The bells are rung for evensong.

An hour ago, the golden sun

Sank slowly down into the west;

Poor, weary Hands, your toil is done;

’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!

O weary Feet! that many a mile

Have trudged along a stony way,

At last ye reach the trysting stile;

No longer fear to go astray.

The gently bending, rustling trees

Rock the young birds within the nest,

And softly sings the quiet breeze:

‘’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!’

O weary Eyes! from which the tears

Fell many a time like thunder-rain—

O weary Heart! that through the years

Beat with such bitter, restless pain,

To-night forget the stormy strife,

And know, what Heaven shall send is best;

Lay down the tangled web of life;

’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!

Florence Tylee.

Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.