What yet remains of this day’s course.
Help with thy grace through life’s short day
Our upward and our downward way,
And glorify for us the west,
When we shall sink to final rest.
Wordsworth.
As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm;
Tho’ round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.