At the glory of the evenings that are perfect—nothing less;
But here the nights, returning, are the wond'rous gifts of God—
As if the days were maidens fair with golden slippers shod.
There is no cloud to hide the sky; the universe is ours,
And the starlight likes to look and laugh in Cupid-haunted bowers.
Oh the restful, peaceful evenings! In them my soul delights,
For God loved California when He gave to her her nights.
ALFRED JAMES WATERHOUSE,
in Some Homely Little Songs.
FEBRUARY 2.