IN THE CLOSING HOURS.
In the closing hours of night,
When the latest guest has gone,
By the hearth fire’s flickering light
Sweet it is to dream alone.
Sweet the social joy, and sweet
Strife that ends in victory;
Sweeter still the peace complete
Following on the eager day.
Then how sweet the lassitude,
Revelling in romantic rest,
Buoyed on dreams, whose mystic flood
Draws the soul on happy quest.
In the closing hours of life,
When the friends of youth are gone,
Ended lust of gain and strife,
Peace approaches with the dawn.
Sweet the rest and solitude
When the hair is turning white,
While the past, with broadening flood,
Murmurs through the closing night.
WHERE HEAVEN IS.
When the babe is swung in its pearly cot, the warm sun shining, the song-birds gay,
Cool shades among, in its lacework grot, the child reclining doth dreamful sway.
Hope’s hand, entwining life’s harp new strung with joyous garlands, its sound doth stay,
And he thinks earth heaven, to him God-given, nor cares though the passing hours delay.