How Evening Star had given aid as he had steered
Through her his homeward course, obscured by gale.
And oft at sunset hour the parents sat and watched
Receding day with grave expectancy,
At times through lattice work of branches gaunt and notched,
At times through leafy boughs that swathed the sky.
And when the rosy prelude, orchestra of tint,
Had dimmed; with deep, upwelling thought that strives
And gladsome awe, they faced the Evening Star; whose print
Was on their baby's brow, had marked their lives.