The bound of man’s appointed years, at last,
Life’s blessings all enjoyed, life’s labors done,
Serenely to his final rest has passed,—
While the soft memory of his virtues yet
Lingers, like twilight hues when the bright sun is set?
W. C. Bryant.
REST AT EVENING.
By ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.
When the weariness of life is ended,
And the task of our long day is done,