THE BROOK AT SUNSET.

Could Pison or Pactolus old
Eclipse our little stream to-night?
What grape might yield a glossier gold,
Such amber streams,
And ruby gleams
Fringed all along with dazzling light
That ripples down thro' emerald meadows bright?
Brief pageant! minions of the sun,
With him the hues in gloom decline;
Then think on the Eternal One,
Sun of the soul,
At whose control
Outpours the living light divine,
The grace that turns life's water into wine.

THE CHURCH TOWER AT SUNSET.

See with a radiance noontide never gave
Our little tower fling back the evening gold!
Like to a sunlit rose upon a grave,
Like to a star upon the midnight wave,
When all of earth that was so bright and brave
Is waning into dusk obscure and cold.
So in the nightfall of that dread decay
When worlds their borrowed lustre shall resign,
They who o'erlooked her on her lowly way,
They who despised her in her robes of clay,
Shall in the glory of her opening day
Bow down abashed before the Bride Divine.

SUMMER SUNSET.

I saw the summer sunset die
On golden clouds beyond the rain,
I saw the dying Christian lie
Bright-eyed amid a weeping train.
I read on evening's roseate pile
Hope of a lovelier day than this;
I hailed in that expiring smile
Assurance of eternal bliss.